ust 


about 


a  boy 


WS-Phillips 

CElComancho) 


JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 


Just  About  a  Boy 


BY 


WALTER   S.  PHILLIPS 
(El  Comancho) 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  &  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCXCIX 


COPYRIGHT      1899,     BY 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  CO 


DEDICATION 


THERE  ARE  BOYS  STILL  IN  THIS  OLD  WORLD 
OF  OURS— HAPPY,  BRIGHT  LITTLE  SAVAGES 
WHO  HAVE  STILL  TO  BECOME  CIVILIZED  AND 
LEARN  A  LANGUAGE.  UNTIL  THEN  THEY  WILL 
LOVE  THE  WOODS  AND  THE  WILDS  AND  BECOME 
FRIENDS  WITH  ALL  THE  VAST  POPULATION  OF 
THE  WILDERNESS  AND  SO  LEARN  ITS  SECRETS. 
SUCH  A  BOY  IS  A  SAFE  BOY  IF  HE  FOLLOW  THIS 
NATURAL  BENT,  FOR  THERE  IS  NOTHING  VICIOUS 
ABOUT  THE  WILDERNESS,  AND  TO  THE  BOY  WHO 
LOVES  IT  THE  WORLD  OVER  THIS  LITTLE  BOOK 

IS  DEDICATED. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


M532988 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I  Meet  the  Boy 1 

A  Day  Along  the  River  ....  13 
Honey-Hunting  with  the  Boy  .  .  .25 

After  Ducks 41 

Tell-tale  Tracks .51 

We  Go  A-fishing      .  61 

Just  a  Lazy  Afternoon  .  .  .  .69 
Floating  and  Fishing  on  the  River  .  79 
What  Happened  in  Camp  .  .  .  .89 
A  Down-Stream  Journey  ...  99 
A  Race  with  a  Prairie  Fire  .  .  .109 
Beaver  Trapping  .  .  .  .  .  121 

Sno wed-Up  in  Camp 131 

We  Start  for  the  Mountains  .  .  .  141 
Down  in  the  Quicksand  ....  151 
Just  "Hitting  the  Trail"  ...  161 

A  Night  Experience 171 

Up  Kara  Mountain  and  Down  Again  .  181 
Across  the  Desert  Country  .  .  .  193 

Lore  of  the  Trail 203 

Our  Home-Coming 225 


PKEFACE 


These  little  stories  are  not  written  with 
the  idea  of  adding  any  shining  light  to  the 
large  literature  of  the  English  language, 
but  are  just  simple  days  taken  from  the 
life  of  a  simple  Western  boy,  who  grew  up 
along  the  shores  of  a  little  Western  river. 

This  boy  was  no  better  and  probably  no 
worse  than  thousands  of  other  boys,  yet 
there  is,  and  always  was,  a  certain  love  of 
the  wilderness  and  an  insight  into  the 
lives  of  the  wild  people  of  the  woods  and 
valleys,  that  made  him  a  gentle  young 
savage,  manly,  true  and  keen. 

I  liked  him  from  the  first  and  associated 
more  or  less  with  him  until  he  grew  up 
and  became  the  father  of  another  boy,  who 
is  much  like  this  boy  that  I  know. 

Such  a  boy  interests  other  boys,  and 
grown-up  boys,  too,  and  for  this  reason  I 
was  moved  to  tell  of  the  doings  of  the 
young  savage  there  on  the  little  Western 
river  first  in  the  ' 'Forest  and  Stream." 

Soon  I  found  that  others  loved  this  boy 


PREFACE 

for  his  gentle  boyishness,  and  so  I  put  his 
doings  into  book  form. 

This  lad  is  actual  flesh  and  blood,  and 
has  to-day  outgrown  his  youthful  ideas — 
yet  he  is  just  as  good  company  as  ever, 
and  loves  the  wilderness  as  well. 

He  lives  at  -  — ;  perhaps  I  had  better 
not  tell  you  just  where  he  lives,  but  if  you 
happen  into  the  prairie  country  sixty  miles 
or  so  west  of  the  Missouri  River,  you  may 
recognize  the  island  where  I  first  met  him, 
for  a  railroad  now  crosses  the  river  there, 
and  its  bridge  rests  on  a  central  pier  just 
at  the  foot  of  it — and  above,  in  plain  sight 
from  the  train,  is  the  great  sweep  of 
bending  river  with  the  big  walnut  trees, 
still  growing  in  the  sandy  soil — still  throw 
ing  a  grateful  shade  for  troops  of  other 
boys  who  "goswimmin'  "  just  above  there 
as  of  yore.  I  saw  all  this  only  a  short 
time  ago,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  the  days  when  this  boy  of  mine  was  a 
savage,  whose  soft  footfall  pattered  about 
here  and  who  was  part  of  the  life  of  those 
days.  THE  AUTHOR. 


Just  About  a  Boy 


I  MEET  THE  BOY 

OKCE  in  the  time  that  is  now  repre 
sented  by  pictures  in  the  mental  gallery 
only,  I  fished  a  Western  stream. 

It  was  a  pleasant  stream,  I  remember, 
that  dimpled  in  little  waves  where  the 
gentle  south  wind  kissed  the  wider 
reaches,  and  there  were  curious,  wavy 
shadows  under  the  opposite  bank  where 
the  grasses  hung  down  and  the  cotton- 
woods  spread  their  ample  branches  to 
shade  the  water.  Hidden  reefs  made 
riffles  in  the  current.  Circling  eddies 
behind  the  boulders  that  occasionally 
poked  up  above  the  water,  furnished  rest 
ing  places  for  big  blue  channel  catfish  that 
took  my  minnow  or  frog  with  a  savage 
rush  like  a  salmon. 

1 


2  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

The  water  was  cool  and  clear,  and  the 
fish  that  lived  there  were  full  of  fight,  and 
such  good  eating  that  I  often  wandered  to 
this  Western  river  and  cast  my  bait. 

True,  it  was  "not  all  of  fishing  to  fish" 
in  those  days,  just  as  it  is  now,  and  I 
mixed  my  time  between  fishing  and  watch 
ing  the  natural  beauties  of  the  landscape. 

On  this  particular  day  in  June  I  had 
waded  down  the  stream  until  the  drowse 
of  noontide  was  in  the  air.  I  was  tired  of 
fishing  and  of  fish,  had  fought  great  blue- 
black  fellows  until,  for  once  at  least,  I 
wanted  no  more ;  so  I  climbed  out  on  the 
shaded  point  of  the  little  island  in  mid 
stream  and  stretched  at  full  length  along 
the  grass,  resting  and  content  in  watching 
the  life  I  saw  around  me. 

Swallows  came  tacking  along  near  the 
surface  of  the  river,  darting  up,  down  and 
crosswise,  as  they  feasted  on  the  insect 
inhabitants  of  the  air.  Fleecy  clouds 
floated  overhead  and  disappeared  in  space 
like  phantom  balloons.  A  saucy  king 
fisher  flashed  up  from  somewhere  and 


I  MEET  THE  BOY  3 

came  to  a  stop  on  a  nearby  snag,  looking 
for  all  the  world  like  a  part  of  the  dead 
wood  a  moment  after  he  alighted,  and  I 
forgot  all  about  him  until  I  heard  a  splash 
and  knew  instinctively  that  another  small 
fish  lacked  wisdom,  but  had  found  it  out 
too  late. 

Bees,  the  only  busy  things  in  sight, 
fumbled  the  yellow  heads  of  a  few  rosin 
weeds  that  looked  toward  the  sun.  The 
river  people  sang  with  crooning  voices  an 
underwater  song  in  the  hurrying  riffles, 
tinkle,  bubble,  gurgle — the  quiet  swirl  of 
the  waters. 

A  splash  up  at  the  head  of  the  rapids 
where  "the  big  one  got  away"  an  hour 
before,  another  splash  in  the  pool  below, 
and  a  circle  of  ever -widening  rings. 

A  big  heron  stalked  lazily  along  a  sandbar 
three  hundred  or  four  hundred  yards 
down  stream,  and  the  summer  air  made 
him  as  big  as  an  ostrich. 

A  soft  patter  of  bare  feet  announced  the 
arrival  of  the  boy.  He  had  waded  across 
to  the  head  of  the  island  and  then  came  by 


JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

land  to  the  lower  end.  He  saw  me  and 
stopped  short,  hesitatingly. 

He  was  all  boy,  too,  about  fourteen  or 
fifteen  years  old,  sturdy,  bright-faced, 
exceedingly  homely  and  clad  in  a  straw 
hat  the  worse  for  wear,  a  flannel  shirt 
wide  open  at  the  throat,  a  leather  belt 
with  a  knife  sheath  dangling  from  it,  and 
—well,  the  rest  of  his  costume  was  mostly 
an  expression  of  gladness.  He  was  cer 
tainly  a  picture  of  health  and  youthful 
"orneriness"  as  he  stood  there  in  the  Juno 
sunshine,  digging  one  bare  toe  into  the 
Band  and  balancing  himself  with  a  long 
cane  fishpole  in  an  uneasy  way,  and  I 
made  a  mental  note  that  I  somehow  liked 
that  boy. 

"Hello,  young  man!  Fishing,  are  you?" 

"Yep." 

"Catch  anything  yet?" 

"Yep." 

"Where  are  your  fish?" 

"Got  'em  picketed  out  up  at  th'  head 
o'  th'  ilan'.  Git  any?" 

"Yes,    I    have    quite    a    string    down 


I  MEET  THE  BOY  5 

there,"  I  said,  pointing  toward  the  water 
where  I  had  secured  my  fish. 

The  boy  walked  down,  dropped  his  fish- 
pole  and  examined  my  string  with  a  crit 
ical  eye.  "Got  some  good  ones,  ain't 
yeh?" 

"Yes,  pretty  fair,  I  think,  for  half  a 
day's  casting." 

"I  got  'bout  that  many,  and  I've  on'y 
bin  out  'bout  two  hours.  Run  out  o' 
bait  'n'  come  down  here  for  minnies." 

I  saw  no  net  or  other  contrivance  for 
securing  minnows,  so  I  asked:  "How  do 
you  catch  your  bait?" 

"Seine  'em,"  laconically. 

"Where's  your  net?" 

"Over  yonder,"  jerking  his  thumb  in 
the  direction  of  a  dense  clump  of  willows. 
"Got  'er  cached  sost  I  can  git  it  when  I 
want  it.  Say,  gee !  that's  uh  dandy  pole 
yeh  got,  ain't  it,  'n'  uh  reel  too!"  he 
remarked,  casting  an  admiring  glance  at 
the  old  lancewood  rod  that  leaned  against 
the  bushes. 

"Yes,  that  old  rod  is  a  good  one;  not 


6  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

very  handsome,  but  it  has  stood  the  test, 
and  I  know  what  it  will  do." 

' ' Gee,  wish  I  had  uh  pole  like  that.  Must 
be  fun  to  see  ole  Balaam  go  with  all  that 
line ;  'nen  uh  little  Rastus  'd  make  'er  bend, 
too,  I  reckon,"  he  added,  reflectively. 

I  did  not  then  understand  that  this  boy 
had  a  boyish  name  of  his  own  for  the 
people  of  the  wilderness,  but  I  afterward 
learned  that  "Balaam"  meant  a  large  fish 
and  "Rastus"  was  a  small  one,  so  I  replied 
that  all  kinds  and  sizes  of  fish  "made  her 
bend." 

The  boy  closely  examined  and  tested  the 
balance  of  the  rod,  remarked  that  "she 
switched  like  uh  buggy  whip,"  and 
showed  so  much  interest  that  I  concluded 
to  let  him  "try  her." 

"Would  you  like  to  catch  a  fish  with 
my  rod?" 

"Would  I  ?    Well,  I  guess  yes." 

"All  right,  now  I'll  show  you  a  few 
tricks  about  handling  it,  so  you  won't 
smash  my  tip,  you  know;  and  then  you 
may  try  your  skill." 


I  MEET  THE  BOY  7 

He  was  delighted,  and  paid  strict  atten 
tion  as  I  explained  the  wrist  movement 
in  the  cast.  In  a  few  trials  he  had 
mastered  the  knack ;  indeed,  he  took  to  it 
as  naturally  as  a  duck  to  water,  and  was 
ready. 

"Reeckon  I'll  git  uh  few  dandy  red- 
horse  minnies,  'nen  I'll  git  uh  Balaam  sure 
right  crost  there  by  that  ole  root.  Theys 
all  us  uh  Balaam  er  two  over  there,  'n'  I'll 
git  one  all  right." 

He  scrambled  into  a  thick  clump  of  wil 
lows  on  the  island,  ducked  in  among  the 
branches  and  brought  out  a  minnow  net 
made  of  a  yard  or  so  of  blue  mosquito  bar, 
with  the  ends  rolled  around  a  couple  of 
willow  sticks.  With  this  primitive  outfit 
he  waded  out  into  the  current,  and  making 
a  quick  sweep  through  an  eddy  behind  a 
rock,  dipped  up  about  a  dozen  fine  red- 
horse  minnows,  bright  as  a  bit  of  rainbow, 
and  brought  them  ashore.  Here  he  picked 
out  three  or  four,  remarking:  "Yeh  want 
to  git  these  rough-nosed  fellers  if  yeh  want 
good  bait,"  though  I  saw  no  difference  in 


JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

the  color  or  size  or  any  characteristic  of 
the  minnows  until  the  boy  showed  me  the 
heads  of  two  or  three  of  them.  One  was 
smooth  and  slippery  as  any  fish  is,  while 
the  other  fish  felt  as  if  it  had  a  skin  of 
sandpaper,  it  was  so  rough.  The  boy 
declared  that  a  catfish  took  the  rough 
kind  "quicker  'n'  lightnin',"  when  it 
would  not  notice  the  smooth  kind  that 
looked  just  like  it. 

He  put  the  few  baits  that  he  had  se 
lected  into  his  hat,  and  then  complacently 
put  the  hat  back  on  his  head,  saying: 
"They're  handy  that  way,  an'  yeh  can 
git  'em  fresh  whenever  yeh  run  out  o' 
bait." 

He  strung  one  on  the  hook  to  his  liking 
and  then  waded  out  into  the  stream  within 
casting  distance  of  the  old  root  he  had 
mentioned.  At  the  third  cast  he  got  a 
strike,  and  in  a  moment  I  saw  he  had  a 
large  one.  "Got  ole  Balaam,  sure!"  he 
shouted.  I  gave  him  directions  about 
handling  for  a  few  moments,  but  soon  saw 
that  he  instinctively  understood  the  hand- 


I  MEET   THE   BOY 

ling  of  a  rod  and  reel,  so  I  stood  still  and 
watched  the  fight,  and  a  pretty  one  it  was, 
too. 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  boy  started 
back  for  shore,  working  the  fish  slowly  and 
carefully  across  the  stream,  leading  him 
always  into  the  stiffest  currents  he  could. 
I  waded  out  with  the  net  and  stood  ready, 
and  when  the  catch  came  within  reach  I 
landed  him  safe  in  the  net.  "Gee!  that's 
uh  slick  way  to  git  yer  fish,  too,"  said  the 
boy,  as  he  noted  the  landing-net  act.  We 
walked  up  on  the  island  and  unhooked  the 
prize,  which  tipped  the  pocket  scales  at 
nine  and  a  quarter  pounds,  and  then  sat 
in  the  shade  talking.  The  boy  was  en 
thusiastic  about  the  working  of  the  rod, 
though  a  nine-pound  fish  seemed  to  inter 
est  him  only  as  an  adjunct  to  the  sport  of 
reeling  in  and  reeling  out. 

"Gee !  that's  uh  mighty  nice  pole.  How 
much  d'  yeh  pay  for  'em?"  I  told  him 
the  run  of  prices  on  rods,  and  explained 
the  points  of  a  good  one  to  him.  "I'm 
go  in'  to  have  one  like  that,"  he  said,  and 


10  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

I  knew  he  meant  it  by  the  snap  of  his 
square  young  jaw. 

In  our  conversation  that  afternoon  I 
found  that  the  boy  knew  every  foot  of  the 
river  for  miles  up  and  down  stream,  and 
every  foot  of  the  surrounding  country 
besides,  for  he  had  a  shotgun  and  a  rifle 
and  hunted  in  season. 

He  said  he  went  to  school  * 'sometimes," 
and  always  camped  out  in  vacation.  He 
had  his  boat  and  cayuse,  too,  so  he  was 
fixed  for  all  kinds  of  outdoor  sport. 
When  the  sun  began  to  lengthen  the  shad 
ows  the  boy  reckoned  he'd  "vamoose,"  but 
we  parted  firm  friends,  and  with  the  under 
standing  that  we  would  meet  again  on  the 
following  Saturday  at  the  dam,  and  fish 
the  riffles  down  stream  together. 

"So  long,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  gathered 
up  his  long  cane  pole  and  his  big  fish,  and 
silently  disappeared  into  the  bushes  of  the 
island,  barefooted  and  barelegged,  unmind 
ful  of  the  scratching  bushes  or  the  saw-like 
edges  of  the  wiry  slough  grass. 

"There  is  a  boy  that  is  a  character  and 


I  MEET  THE  BOY  11 

is  a  good  one  to  study,"  I  thought.  I 
was  right,  too;  for  I  saw  him  grow  up, 
hunted,  fished  and  traveled  with  him,  was 
at  his  wedding  and  am  good  friends  with 
his  five-year-old,  who  shows  signs  of  being 
a  "chip  from  the  old  block"  already. 


A  DAY  ALONG  THE  RIVER 


Saturday  came  I  went  to  the 
dam,  equipped  for  fishing.  The  boy  was 
there  ahead  of  me,  and  had  already  seined 
a  lot  of  his  favorite  red-horse  minnows, 
and  was  keeping  them  alive  in  a  little  pond 
he  had  huilt  where  the  waters  from  a 
spring  trickled  down  the  hill. 

"Hello,  you're  on  time  'n'  I'm  all  ready. 
Got  lots  o'  bait  for  both  o'  us.  Got  uh 
new  pole,  too.  What  d'ye  think  o'  her?" 
he  asked,  without  giving  me  time  to  get  a 
word  in  edgeways. 

I  took  the  rod,  a  stout  lancewood,  and 
examined  it.  It  was  perfect  in  every  par 
ticular  except  weight,  and  I  told  him  it 
was  a  trifle  heavy,  I  thought,  otherwise  all 
right.  "Well,  yeh  see;  I  kinder  thought 
I  might  bust  uh  little  one  'fore  I  got  ust 
to  it,  so  I  got  this  one.  Could  'a'  got  uh 
littler  one,  but  I  was  uh  little  leery  'bout 
13 


14  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

it.  Reckon  she'll  do.  Hain't  half  so 
heavy  as  my  ole  cane,  anyhow,"  he  sagely 
remarked,  as  he  fondled  the  new  rod  and 
tested  the  spring  of  its  bending  length. 

"Here,  put  some  o'  these  in  yer  hat," 
he  continued,  scooping  up  a  double  hand 
ful  of  fine  minnows.  I  pushed  my  bait 
box  around  and  he  dumped  them  in,  but 
put  his  own  in  his  hat,  because  they  were 
handier  there  according  to  his  notion. 
The  minnow  net  he  stuck  through  his 
belt,  letting  it  dangle  without  any  brails. 
He  could  cut  the  latter  anywhere  along  the 
stream,  so  he  did  not  bother  himself  with 
the  extra  weight. 

"Ready?"  he  asked.  "Yes,"  I  an 
swered,  and  we  started  into  the  stream, 
shoes,  trousers  and  all,  for  he  had  his  on 
this  time  perforce,  as  there  were  houses  on 
each  side  of  the  stream. 

We  waded  out  to  a  bar  that  reached 
partly  across  the  river  below  the  dam,  and 
then  the  boy  showed  his  knowledge. 
"Here,  yeh  wade  'bout  four  steps  straight 
toward  th'  dam,  and  you'll  find  uh  big  flat 


A  D,AY  ALONG  THE  RIVER    15 

rock  there,  where  th'  water  is  waist  deep. 
Git  up  on  th'  rock,  and  it'll  only  come 
half-way  to  yer  knees.  When  yeh  git 
there,  throw  yer  bait  right  where  those  two 
little  currents  meet,  'n'  you'll  git  uh  Ba 
laam,  for  they's  uh  place  where  they  stay, 
down  in  amongst  th'  rocks  there.  I  know, 
'cause  I've  dove  down  there  'n'  bin  all 
over  th'  bottom.  Yeh  must  throw  right 
ed-zackly  where  I  tell  yeh,  or  you'll  git 
fast,  for  they's  uh  big  old  cottonwood 
stump  jammed  in  among  th'  rocks  on  this 
side  about  two  feet,  'n'  th'  rock  bottom 
goes  down  in  uh  straight  step-off  on  th' 
other  side,  'n'  they's  only  'bout  three  feet 
clear  water  between  th'  two.  It's  'bout 
nine  or  ten  feet  deep,'n'  they's  uh  current 
at  th'  bottom  that  goes  up  stream  toward 
th'  dam,  'cause  th'  water  falls  'n'  makes 
sort  o' an  undertow.  Go  ahead. " 

I  did  as  directed,  and  found  the  rock  as 
described,  and  caught  some  fine  fish  of  six 
or  seven  pounds  weight  before  the  boy 
shouted  to  "Come  on,  this  is  petered 
out."  By  questioning  I  found  that  the 


16  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

boy  had  actually  been  all  over  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  right  up  to  the  very  falls  of 
the  dam,  unmindful  of  a  strong  undertow 
that  had  drowned  several  men. 

He  seemed  to  think  nothing  of  the  dan 
ger  he  exposed  himself  to  by  taking 
chances  among  those  currents. 

"It's  easy  to  swim  in  there  if  yeh  know 
how,"  he  said.  "All  yeh  got  to  do  when 
yeh  want  to  git  out  is  juss  come  up  to  th' 
top  quick,  nen  turn  on  yer  back  'n'  float 
out  with  th'  top  current,  that's  going 
down  stream  all  time,  'cept  right  up  by 
th'  fall,  and  there  th'  top  current  goes 
up  stream  'n'  th'  undertow  goes  down. 
Yeh  can  feel  th'  difference  soon  as  yeh 
strike  it;  so,  if  yeh  are  close  to  th'  fall, 
dive  'n'  stay  down  till  yeh  meet  th'  under 
tow  comin'  back,  nen  shoot  to  th'  top  'n' 
turn  on  yer  back,  'n'  yore  all  right.  I 
mighty  near  got  caught  once,  though, 
'fore  I  found  out  'bout  th'  currents,"  ho 
added  reflectively.  "I  got  shoved  down 
'n'  yanked  back  up  five  er  six  times,  but 
I  juss  helt  my  breath  'n'  reckoned  I  could 


A  DAY  ALONG  THE  RIVER    17 

keep  it  up  tnll  I  got  into  th'  right  cur 
rent.  Had  uh  purty  close  call,  though." 

We  were  slowly  wading  along  down 
stream  as  we  talked,  and  each  picked  up 
a  good  fish  here  and  there  among  the 
eddies  until  we  got  near  the  foot  of  the 
rapid,  half  a  mile  from  the  dam.  "Now 
come  here  'n'  I'll  show  yeh  'nother  place," 
said  the  boy.  "Throw  right  over  there, 
juss  above  that  ole  maple  on  th'  bank. 
They's  uh  deep  place  just  below  there,  'n' 
th'  current  has  cut  away  back  nunder  th' 
roots.  Some  day  th'  maple  is  goin'  to 
tumble  in  'n'  spoil  that  hole.  I  come 
down  through  here  one  day  'n'  didn't  git 
a  bite  from  th'  dam  clear  here,  nen  I  got 
a  three-pounder  out  o'  this  hole,  nen  I  got 
uh  'nother,  'n'  uh  'nother,  tull  I  stood 
here  'n'  caught  twenty-nine  of  'em,  all 
'bout  th'  same  size  'n'  'bout  three  pounds 
weight.  I  didn't  know  they  was  uh  hole 
there  then,  but  I  found  it  out  afterwards, 
'n'  I  always  ketch  'bout  th'  same  size  fish 
there,  'bout  three  pounds." 

I  had  cast  into  the  place  indicated,  and 


18  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

almost  before  the  minnow  struck  I  had  a 
fish  which,  when  landed,  was  sure  enough 
"  'bout  a  three-pounder."  We  caught 
several  more  there,  and  they  ran  just  about 
the  same  size,  and  I  found  that  the  hole 
could  be  depended  on  for  "three-pounders" 
almost  every  time. 

"Now,  less  git  out  V  walk  down  to  th' 
big  walnut  trees,"  said  the  boy.  "They 
ain't  any  use  fishin'  in  this  still  water 
below  here.  Might  git  uh  few,  but  it's 
too  slow.  I  like  swift  water,  so  th'  fish 
'ill  run  when  yeh  git  uh  holt  of  'em. 
'Tain't  no  fun  to  fish  'n  still  water." 

I  thought  the  boy  spoke  more  wisely 
than  he  knew,  for  he  had  the  true  sports 
man's  instinct,  and  only  needed  a  few 
hints  properly  administered  to  show  him 
that  he  was  really  enjoying  life  just  about 
in  the  right  way. 

We  climbed  the  bank,  wet  and  dripping, 
walked  down  stream  along  a  path  that  the 
boy  seemed  to  know  would  come  to  the 
river  again  at  about  the  right  place. 

"Mighty  good  place  for  quails  'n'  rabbits 


A  DAY  ALONG  THE  RIVER    19 

up  there  'bout  three  mile,"  the  boy  re 
marked,  as  we  crossed  a  little  creek.  "If 
yer  here  this  winter  I'll  show  yeh  some 
fun.  I  know  right  where  to  find  'em, 
V  'thout  uh  dog,  too.  Don't  like  uh 
dog  to  hunt  with  anyhow,"  continued  the 
young  savage.  "Makes  too  much  noise, 
nen  they  always  run  ahead  'n'  scare  ever'- 
thing  up  before  yeh  git  close  enough. 
Best  way  is  to  trail  'em." 

"How  can  you  trail  quail?"  I  asked. 

"Easy.  They  leave  lots  o'  signs,  even 
if  they  hain't  any  snow  on  th'  ground. 
They  kind  o'  flutter  in  th'  dust  like  uh 
chicken  does  in  th'  middle  o'  th'  day,  'n' 
they  always  come  to  'bout  th'  same  place 
at  th'  same  time  every  day,  if  they  hain't 
hunted  too  much  so's  to  scare  'em  away, 
nen  they  go  to  some  other  place  'n'  begin 
all  over  again." 

This  was  news  to  me,  but  I  found  out 
that  the  boy  was  a  regular  Indian  in  his 
ways  of  hunting,  and  whatever  he  said 
about  game  or  fish  of  that  section  I 
learned  to  depend  on  as  accurate,  for  he 


20  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

knew  the  habits  of  wild  creatures  as  few 
people  do.  lie  loved  them,  and  only 
killed  what  he  could  use,  and  later  I  have 
seen  him  pass  a  covey  of  quail  after  he  had 
all  he  wanted  and  never  pay  any  more 
attention  to  them  than  he  would  to  a  tame 
chicken,  except  to  remark,  "I'll  see  you 
later,  my  beauties,"  and  he  generally  did 
it,  too. 

When  we  reached  the  lower  riffles  we 
waded  in  again  and  fished  to  the  island 
before  lunch  time ;  then  I  suggested  that 
we  climb  out  and  have  a  little  lunch,  a 
proposition  that  suited  him  exactly. 

"We'll  go  to  my  camp  here  'n'  have  as 
good  uh  feed  as  though  we  was  home,"  he 
said,  as  we  tied  our  fish  in  a  shady  spot 
and  climbed  upon  the  island.  "Yeh  see 
I  fish  here  uh  good  deal,  and  I've  fixed  up 
uh  kind  o'  uh  camp,  sost  I'm  at  home  like. 
'Tain't  much,  but  we  can  git  uh  bite  to 
eat  all  right,"  he  said,  as  he  led  the  way 
toward  the  center  of  the  island,  where  the 
bushes  seemed  so  thick  that  one  could 
scarcely  get  through  them.  To  my  sur- 


A  DAY  ALONG  THE  RIVER    21 

prise,  the  boy  twisted  and  turned  about, 
always  with  a  clear  path  under  our  feet 
and  easy  traveling,  until  we  reached  a  little 
open  space  where  three  giant  cottonwood 
trees  grew  close  together.  "Yeh  see,  I 
cut  uh  trail  in  here  sost  I  could  git  in 
'thout  much  trouble.  Had  to  wind  around 
to  make  it  blind.  If  I'd  cut  it  straight 
ever 'body  would  come  right  into  camp, 
but  it  winds  around  sost  yeh  can't  see  any 
trail  'tall  'less  yeh  know  where  to  go." 

That,  I  thought,  was  certainly  an  Indian 
way  of  hiding  camp  and  leaving  the  front 
door  open,  trusting  to  the  blindness  so 
common  among  civilized  people  for  pro 
tection. 

"Now,  we'll  have  uh  feed  right,"  said 
the  boy,  as  we  reached  his  "camp,"  which 
appeared  to  be  only  a  snug  little  opening 
in  the  middle  of  the  thicket;  but  as  he 
began  to  brush  aside  innocent  looking 
little  bunches  of  leaves  and  twigs,  I  saw  the 
same  Indian  methods  displayed  again,  for 
under  each  pile  reposed  some  essential 
camp  article,  and  no  two  in  a  place.  A 


22  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

coffee  pot  appeared,  then  a  frying-pan,  tin 
plate,  spoons,  knives,  forks,  and  last,  but 
not  least,  he  scattered  a  few  bits  of  bark 
and  revealed  a  hollow  space  dug  under  the 
base  of  one  of  the  cottonwoods,  and  in 
this  hole  a  wooden  box.  Opening  the  box, 
he  brought  forth  a  bag  of  oiled  canvas, 
and  this  in  turn  produced  coffee,  sugar, 
salt  and  a  generous  slab  of  bacon,  each 
tied  up  in  a  separate  oiled  bag. 

4 'Hain't  got  'ny  bread  juss  now,"  he 
remarked;  "got  to  bring  some  down,  too. 
Eat  the  last  up  uh  few  days  ago." 

I  had  plenty  of  lunch  in  my  basket,  and 
with  fresh  fish  fried  with  the  bacon  and 
hot  black  coffee  we  made  a  meal  that  was 
fit  for  kings. 

"I  got  uh  little  tent  over  yonder,  too, 
so  I'm  pretty  much  at  home  down  here 
rain  er  shine.  Got  'nother  outfit  cached  up 
th'  river,  too.  Got  uh  stove  up  they  'n' 
uh  shovel,  besides  uh  little  tent  'n'  plenty 
o'  grub.  Yeh  see  I  don't  like  to  pack 
stuff  with  me,  so  I  pack  it  out  'n'  hide  it, 
'n'  nen  I'm  fixed."  Truly,  the  boy  was  a 


A  DAY  ALONG  THE  RIVER    23 

half -wild  person  in  those  days,  and  his 
soft  step  wandered  through  all  the  byways 
of  his  domain  and  he  was  king. 

After  our  lunch  he  stowed  things  away, 
and  deftly  hid  them  by  making  the  sur 
roundings  appear  perfectly  natural,  and  I 
would  never  have  suspected  the  existence 
of  a  camp  there  when  he  got  through. 

"Now,  less  go  home.  I've  got  all  th' 
fishin'  I  want  if  you  have,"  he  said,  after 
we  had  rested  and  talked  an  hour  after 
dinner.  "Yeh  go  ahead  'n'  I'll  kind  o' 
kick  th'  leaves  over  yer  trail,"  he  said,  as 
we  were  ready  to  leave.  I  went  down  the 
windings  of  the  trail  and  then  discovered 
that  he  had  cut  the  bushes  about  half  off 
on  one  side  and  bent  them  down  over  the 
cut  to  hide  it  and  show  only  an  ordinary 
broken  bush,  perfectly  natural  in  the 
woods,  and  thus  had  cut  his  trail  into 
camp. 

When  we  got  back  to  town  I  invited 
him  up  to  the  house,  to  come  in  just 
whenever  he  felt  like  it  or  wanted  com 
pany  on  a  trip,  and  that  is  how  we  came 


24  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

to  be  close  friends  and  travel  "pardners" 
in  all  these  after  years,  for  the  hoy  came 
in  often  and  was  always  ready  for  a  trip 
somewhere. 


HONEY  HUNTING  WITH  THE 
BOY 

"SAY,  want  to  go  'n'  git  some  wile 
honey?"  said  the  boy  one  day  in  the  fall, 
as  he  rode  up  to  the  barn  door.  "Know 
where  they's  uh  dandy  tree  juss  full  o' 
honey.  Found  it  up  th'  river  yesterday 
when  I  was  tinkerin'  round  there  with  th' 
boat.  Lots  o'  squirrels  up  there,  too,  'n' 
we  can  have  uh  reg'lar  picnic  if  we  start 
early.  I'll  go  home  'n'  hitch  up,  'n'  yeh 
git  ready,  will  yeh?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  I  can  fix  it,"  I  answered. 
"You  get  your  things  together  and  be 
back  in  an  hour,  and  I  will  be  ready." 

"Aw  right,"  he  said,  and  was  away  like 
the  wind  on  his  black  pony,  a  little  beast 
that  seemed  to  enjoy  the  boy's  company  as 
well  as  I  did,  by  the  way. 

In  an  hour  he  drove  up  to  the  gate,  and 
a  drive  of  eight  miles  brought  us  to  the 
creek  a  half-mile  west  of  the  river  and 
25 


26  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

opposite  the  point  we  wished  to  reach  on 
the  main  road. 

Here  we  stopped,  and  began  to  get  ready 
for  our  walk.  I  was  busy  putting  together 
what  we  wanted,  and  did  not  notice  the 
boy  for  a  few  minutes,  during  which  time 
he  had  unhitched  the  pony  and  dragged 
the  buggy  up  by  the  fence,  out  of  the  way 
of  passing  teams.  Then  the  pony  was 
stripped  and  a  halter  with  a  picket  line 
attached  put  on  him  and  the  other  end 
anchored  to  the  fence,  so  he  could  feed 
without  reaching  the  road. 

Then  I  saw  a  queer  proceeding.  The 
boy  took  the  buggy  cushion,  whip,  harness 
and  everything  movable  out  of  the  buggy, 
and  piled  them  in  a  heap.  Next  he  took 
his  big  belt  knife  and  went  to  a  thick 
patch  of  sumac  bushes  that  grew  about 
waist  high  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
Carefully  he  cut  away  these  bushes  in 
spots,  cutting  the  stems  close  to  the  ground 
and  piling  the  bushes  carefully  at  one  side. 
When  he  had  several  little  clearings  made 
in  the  thicket,  he  brought  the  harness  and 


HONEY  HUNTING  27 

other  things  over  and  deposited  them,  a 
few  in  each  place  that  he  had  cleared. 

I  stood  silently  watching  him,  and  he 
turned  and  saw  me. 

"Got  to  hide  this  truck,"  he  remarked. 
"If  I  didn't,  somebody  'd  steal  it  while  we 
wuz  gone;  so  I  juss  fix  it-sost  they  never 
know  it's  here." 

While  he  said  this  he  was  dropping  the 
bushes  back  where  they  had  stood  before, 
each  one  upright  as  it  had  grown,  and 
looking  as  though  it  had  never  been  dis 
turbed.  Where  they  showed  an  inclination 
to  lop  over,  he  stuck  one  or  two  into  the 
ground  and  let  them  support  the  others. 

"Come  on,"  he  said,  when  he  had  fin 
ished.  "Less  git  some  squirrels."  I 
glanced  back  at  the  little  thicket  now 
growing  as  it  had  been  before,  apparently, 
and  I  could  not  but  admire  the  young 
mind  that  had  figured  out  so  easily  that 
no  one  would  ever  think  of  looking  under 
a  growing  thicket  for  plunder. 

His  protection  and  reliance  were  in 
nature,  and  he  knew  nature's  features  so 


28  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

well  that  he  counterfeited  naturalness,  and 
knew  the  human  animals  who  might  pass 
that  way  would  never  know  the  difference, 
that  his  cut-off  bushes  would  not  wilt 
before  we  got  back,  and  that  he  would 
find  his  property  just  as  safe  as  though 
under  lock  and  key. 

We  climbed  the  fence  and  wandered 
among  a  growth  of  oak  and  "pig  nut" 
trees  until  a  squirrel  scurried  up  a  big  oak, 
and  then  something  else  happened. 

I  had  always  circled  a  tree  when  two 
were  hunting  squirrels  in  company,  but 
the  boy  said:  "Hoi'  on,  I'll  show  yeh  how 
I  git  'em  when  I'm  alone." 

He  picked  up  a  piece  of  a  broken  limb 
and  walked  to  within  thirty  or  forty  feet 
of  the  tree,  then  cocked  his  shotgun  and 
held  it  in  his  left  hand.  With  the  other 
he  hurled  the  stick  as  far  as  he  could  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  tree,  and  before  it 
struck  the  ground  he  had  his  gun  at  his 
shoulder  waiting  for  the  squirrel. 

When  the  limb  struck  the  dead  leaves 
it  made  a  great  deal  of  noise  on  the 


HONEY  HUNTING  29 

ground,  and  the  squirrel  swung  around 
the  trunk  on  our  side.  Instantly  there 
was  a  flash,  and  down  he  came,  dead  as  a 
mackerel. 

"Yeh  see,  th'  squirrel  gits  scart  at  th' 
noise  'n'  pops  'round  th'  tree,  watchin' 
back,  'n'  never  stops  to  think  about  th' 
man  'at  he  saw  comin'  when  he  run  up 
there,"  said  the  boy  as  he  gathered  up  his 
kill  and  put  up  its  head  through  a  loop  of 
string  on  his  belt.  They  hain't  got  uh 
lick  o'  sense,  anyhow,"  he  continued. 
"Now  yeh  see  that  bunch  o'  leaves  over  '11 
that  little  oak  with  th'  grapevine  in? 
Well,  that's  a  summer's  nest,  'n'  most 
likely  we'll  find  uh  squirrel  there.  He 
ain't  got  sense  enough  to  run  when  he 
hears  th'  gun.  Less  go  'n'  git  him." 

We  went  to  the  tree  indicated,  and  the 
boy  said:  "Now,  yeh  git  ready  'n'  I'll  git 
him  up." 

I  stood  back,  and  the  boy  walked  to  the 
vine,  jerked  it  sharply  two  or  three  times, 
and,  sure  enough,  out  popped  a  squirrel, 
which  fell  to  my  gun. 


30  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

We  wandered  through  the  woods  until 
late  in  the  afternoon,  killing  several 
squirrels  and  some  quail,  but  I  saw  no 
sign  of  bees  or  a  bee  tree,  so  I  finally  asked 
him  where  his  bees  were. 

"Oh,  'crost  th'  river.  We  won't  bother 
'em  till  dark,  'cause  we  don't  want  to  kill 
'em,  and  they'd  sting  us  plenty  in  day 
light,"  he  answered.  "I'll  show  yeh  how 
I  work  th'  trick  when  it  gits  dark,  so  less 
go  back  to  the  wagon  V  git  th'  things  V 
uh  bite  to  eat.  Won't  take  long  to  git  th' 
honey  when  th'  time  comes,  'n'  we  got  to 
take  th'  axe  V  pails  when  we  go,  V 
we'll  leave  our  game  at  th'  wagon." 

The  sun  had  already  painted  the  west 
ern  sky  in  crimson  and  gold,  against  which 
the  gnarled  cotton  woods  and  oaks  appeared 
in  silhouette,  and  the  elms  wove  a  delicate 
tracery  of  drooping  limbs.  The  frosted 
leaves  had  nearly  all  fallen  to  the  ground, 
leaving  only  the  more  hardy  or  sheltered 
ones  still  on  the  trees  to  wait  the  chill 
touch  that  would  wither  and  send  them 


HONEY  HUNTING  31 

fluttering  down  in  zigzag  flight  as  the 
morning  sun  rose. 

The  waiting  silence  of  a  fall  evening  had 
settled  over  the  land  while  we  were  eating 
our  lunch,  and  as  the  light  faded  the  boy 
glanced  comprehensively  up  and  around 
as  he  said:  "Well,  I  reckon  we  better 
hustle  if  we  want  to  git  that  honey.  I'll 
juss  hide  the  guns,  'cause  we  won't  need 
'em  to-night.  Hain't  no  painters  nor 
bears  nor  things  in  these  woods,  so  all  we 
need  is  the  axe  'n'  pails  'n'  lanterns  'n' 
ropes.  I'll  git  things  'n  shape  while  you 
fix  th'  basket,  nen  we'll  go." 

When  he  had  "fixed  things,"  we 
shouldered  the  axe  and  other  plunder 
and  struck  out  through  the  woods  for  the 
bee  tree.  Reaching  the  river,  the  boy 
sat  down  and  began  unlacing  his  shoes, 
remarking:  "Got  to  cross  th'  river 
here." 

I  did  not  fancy  a  plunge  in  the  icy  cur 
rent  of  the  stream  so  late  in  the  season, 
and  made  some  few  remarks  about  a  boat 
and  coming  up  during  the  next  few  days. 


32  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"Pshaw!"  said  the  boy,  "  'tain't  more'n 
knee  deep  all  th'  way  over.  They 'a  uh 
sandbar  here  'at  runs  kind  o'  anglin'  down 
stream  an'  it  won't  take  yeh  more'n  to  yer 
knees  anywhere.  I  been  across  here  lots  o' 
times  an'  I  know.  Yer  feet  '11  git  uh 
little  cold,  but  you'll  feel  better  after  yeh 
get  out  'n  yeh  did  'fore  yeh  went  in. 
C'm  on,  less  git  over." 

I  had  seen  his  intimate  knowledge  of 
things  natural  and  local  so  well  displayed 
before  that  I  too  began  to  strip  for  the 
wade,  trusting  to  his  guidance,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  we  were  in  the  stream. 

The  water  was  awfully  cold  for  the  first 
few  steps,  and  then  our  feet  became  so 
benumbed  that  we  finished  without  any 
inconvenience,  and  felt  as  warm  as  toast  a 
few  minutes  after  we  had  put  our  clothing 
on  again. 

It  was  quite  dark,  and  the  stars  were 
twinkling  like  fireflies  among  the  branches 
when  the  boy  halted,  dropped  the  axe  and 
pails  and  remarked,  "Here  she  is." 

A  great  elm  tree  rose  into  the  darkness 


HONEY  HUNTING  33 

and  its  spreading  branches  ran  forty  or  fifty 
feet  from  the  trunk. 

"Now,  I'll  tell  yeh,"  said  the  boy, 
1  'you  stay  here  an'  I'll  climb  up  an'  cut 
off  th'  limb — that  big  one  there,"  he  said, 
pointing  upward. 

"We  got  to  chop  th'  end  off  first,  nen 
put  th'  rope  on  her  V  cut  it  again  closer 
to  th'  tree.  Yeh  see  th'  bees  are  pretty 
well  out  in  uh  holler  place  'n  th'  limb  'n' 
hain't  in  th'  holler  trunk  'tall.  I  found 
that  out  when  I  was  up  here  before." 

While  he  was  talking  he  had  taken  a 
coil  of  rope  out  of  one  of  the  pails  and 
thrown  it  up  over  the  limb.  Throwing 
off  his  coat  and  shoes,  he  climbed  the 
double  strand  like  a  monkey  and  swung 
himself  up  over  the  limb.  Then  I  fas 
tened  the  axe  on  the  line  and  he  hauled 
it  up. 

Standing  on  the  fork  with  one  foot  and 
the  main  trunk  of  the  limb  with  the  other, 
he  began  chopping  the  end  off. 

* 'They 're  wakin'  up,"  he  said,  laugh 
ingly,  as  the  angered  bees  began  to  buzz 


34  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

in  the  hollow  under  his  feet.  "It  won't 
hurt  'em  V  they'll  only  git  mad  for 
nuthin',  'cause  they  don't  sting  at  night; 
they  juss  crawl  out  an'  fall  off.  Reckon 
I  better  keep  'em  in,  tho',  tull  I  git  th' 
limb  off,"  he  continued,  stooping  down 
and  stuffing  his  handkerchief  into  the 
small  hole  where  the  bees  entered  the 
hollow. 

Soon  the  limb  fell  with  a  tearing  crash 
down  among  the  bushes  on  the  ground. 
Then  the  boy  drew  the  rope  up  and  fast 
ened  it  to  the  stump  of  the  limb,  throwing 
the  end  over  another  above  him  and  letting 
it  hang  down  to  the  ground. 

"Now  you  take  holt  o'  th'  rope  and  git 
uh  half  hitch  around  something,  sost  yeh 
can  hold  her  when  I  cut  her  off.  We 
don't  want  to  let  her  fall  'n'  mash  th' 
honey  all  up,  so  keep  her  stiddy  till  I  c'n 
help  yeh  lower  her  when  I  git  her  cut  off." 

I  did  as  directed,  and  the  blows  soon 
sounded  again,  echoless  in  the  gloom  of 
the  night  woods,  as  the  boy  swung  the  axe 
with  a  will. 


HONEY  HUNTING  35 

"She's  a-goin';  hoi'  on  now!"  he  said, 
as  an  ominous  cracking  was  heard,  and 
then  a  few  more  cuts  left  the  limb  dang 
ling  at  the  end  of  the  rope. 

The  boy  dropped  his  axe  and  scrambled 
down  the  tree  trunk,  and  together  we 
lowered  the  big  section  of  wood  to  the 
ground. 

4 'Bring  th'  lantern  'n'  pails  now,"  said 
the  boy,  as  he  got  his  axe,  and  then  lis 
tened  with  his  ear  against  the  limb  to 
locate  the  length  of  the  hollow  by  the 
noise  of  the  bees  inside.  "Guess  this '11 
'bout  git  'em,"  he  said,  and  he  began  cut 
ting  a  chip  out. 

Soon  he  made  an  opening  in  the  log, 
and  disclosed  great  combs  of  beautiful 
wild  honey,  over  which  the  swarm  of 
angry  bees  were  writhing  in  a  dark  mass. 
As  soon  as  the  hole  was  open  they  began 
to  crawl  out,  and  the  boy,  with  the  aid  of 
a  splinter,  flipped  them  out  of  the  hollow 
by  the  handful. 

"Look  out  now  'n'  don't  git  excited," 
he  said.  "They  won't  sting  at  night 


36  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

'nless  yeh  hurt  'em,  V  if  one  crawls  on 
yeh  juss  flip  him  off,  sost  lie  won't  have 
uh  chance.  Yeh  see — Gee!  I  got  it  that 
time!"  he  said,  as  he  pinched  a  place  on 
one  finger,  squeezing  it  up  from  under 
neath  until  it  was  white  and  a  tiny  globe 
of  amber  stood  out  on  the  skin. 

'l  'Tain't  nothin',  though,  V  won't 
even  swell  up  'f  yeh  squeeze  th'  poison 
out  juss  as  quick  as  yeh  git  stung,  that 
way.  Gee!  it  always  make  uh  col'  chill 
run  up  'n'  down  my  back,  anyway,  ever' 
time  I  git  it. 

"Hoi'  still,  theys  one  crawlin'  up 
towords  yer  neck.  There,  now  yer  all 
right.  Yeh  see,  if  yeh  move  right  quick, 
er  slap  at  'em  er  hurt  'em  er  anything, 
they'll  sock  uh  stinger  into  yeh  even  at 
night,  but  if  you  'member  'n'  juss  go  easy 
yer  all  right.  Guess  I  got  most  of  'em 
out  now,  'n'  I'll  cut  uh  bigger  hole  sost 
we  can  git  that  comb  out  whole. 

"Gee!  that's  nice-lookin',  ain't  it? 
Lots  of  it  too!  This  tree  is  all  right." 

The  axe  rang  again,  and  the  hole  in  the 


HONEY  HUNTING  37 

limb  grew  larger,  while  the  myriads  of  bees 
buzzed  angrily  among  the  leaves  on  the 
ground,  helpless  in  the  darkness. 

"Guess  that's  all  right  now,"  said 
the  boy,  as  he  took  the  lantern  and 
peered  into  the  opening.  "Gimme  th' 
pails." 

I  handed  him  the  pails  and  he  carefully 
lifted  the  great  new  combs  out  one  by  one 
and  deposited  them  on  end  in  the  pails. 
He  had  four  large  ones  full  of  the  finest 
light-colored  honey  when  he  had  finished, 
and  then  called  for  the  fifth. 

"They's  uh  lot  o'  old  honey  here,  too," 
he  said,  "an1  we'll  take  th'  clearest  of  it. 
'Tain't  as  good  flavor  as  th'  new,  but  it's 
good  honey  all  th'  same.  Th'  rest  of  it 
I'm  goin'  to  leave  till  to-morrow  night, 
nen  I'll  come  up  'n'  git  it  'n'  th'  bees  too, 
'cause  this  is  uh  dandy  swarm,  'n'  they'll 
stay  here  till  they  find  uh  new  hive,  'n' 
lug  ever'  bit  o'  this  honey  to  it. 

"I'll  leave  plenty,  sost  they  can't  take  it 
all  away  to-morrow,  nen  to-morrow  night 
I'll  come  up  with  th'  boat  'n'  some  sacks 


38  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

'n'  a  saw,  'n'  I'll  juss  fasten  'em  in  again 
while  they're  asleep,  nen  I'll  saw  off  the 
limb,  both  ends,  'n'  take  her  home  'n'  fix 
'em  up  'n  one  o'  my  hives." 

Here  was  more  wisdom  of  the  wild  woods 
that  was  new  to  me,  though  I  saw  the 
simple  reasoning  in  it  and  told  the  boy 
that  I  was  glad  the  swarm  would  be  cared 
for  and  not  left  to  die  of  cold  and  lack  of 
food  after  we  had  taken  the  fruits  of  their 
summer's  labor. 

In  another  hour  we  had  forded  the 
river  again,  and  were  on  our  way  back  to 
the  buggy  with  our  plunder,  the  boy  hav 
ing  made  two  trips  across  the  river  in 
the  darkness  to  land  everything  safely. 
"  'Cause  I  know  th'  bar  better'n  you  do, 
nen  I  don't  mind  th'  cold  water,  anyhow," 
he  explained. 

The  horse  gave  a  little  whinny  as  we 
reached  the  buggy,  and  he  was  soon  spin 
ning  toward  home,  where  we  had  to  get 
the  folks  out  of  bed  at  11  o'clock  to 
sleepily  view  those  beautiful  combs  and 
comment  on  the  fruits  of  our  trip. 


HONEY  HUNTING  39 

Two  or  three  days  later  the  boy  burst  in 
on  me  with  the  information  that  he  had 
"got  that  swarm  o'  bees  over  at  th' 
house,  'n'  it's  uh  dandy  too." 


AFTER  DUCKS  ALONG  THE 
RIVER 

"DucKS  're  flyin',"  said  the  boy,  as  he 
met  me  at  the  corner.  "Less  go  up  river 
'n'  git  some.  I  know  where  they's  uh 
dandy  place,  string  o'  pon's  out  'n  the 
edge  o'  th'  timber  'n'  some  more  up  'n  uh 
big  pasture,  with  corn  fields  right  clost  by. 

4 'Always  git  lots  up  there  when  they're 
a-flyin',  'n'  somoKmes  uh  goose,  too.  Will 
yeh  go?" 

"I  guess  we'd  better.  Any  show  for 
snipe  up  there?"  I  asked. 

1  'Gee,  yes!  Always  jacksnipe  'round 
th'  pond  in  th'  pasture.  Yeh  see,  one 
end  of  it  is  kind  o'  springy  'n'  has  lots  o' 
little  watery  places  in  it  where  th'  cattle 
have  tromped  'round,  'n'  th'  jacks  're 
always  at  that  end.  Ain't  very  many  of 
'em,  but  they's  gen'ly  some. 

"I'll  tell  yeh  what  less  do.  I  got  uh 
good  tent  'n'  outfit.  Less  take  it  'n  th' 
41 


42  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

boat  'n'  go  to-night  'n'  camp,  sost  to  be 
up  there  early  'n  th'  morning.  That's 
th'  best  time,  yeh  know." 

"All  right,  I  guess  I  can  fix  it,"  I 
answered.  "You  go  ahead  and  get  ready, 
and  I'll  be  over  to  the  house  in  half  an 
hour.  What  will  we  need  to  take  in  the 
way  of  grub?" 

4 'Oh,  I  got  'nough  grub  cached  up  at 
th'  maples  to  last  us,  'n'  I'll  throw  what 
else  we  want  into  my  packsack  'n'  pick  up 
th'  rest  up  there  as  we  go  along." 

We  separated  and  got  our  traps  to 
gether,  meeting  at  his  house  half  an  hour 
later,  ready  for  the  trip.  It  did  not  take 
long  to  get  to  the  river  and  load  the  boat, 
and  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  had 
reached  the  boy's  camp  at  the  maples, 
about  four  miles  up  stream.  Here  he 
"dug  up"  a  complete  camp  outfit,  except 
ing  blankets,  from  his  snugly  hidden 
cache,  and  we  proceeded,  equipped  for 
staying  two  or  three  days  if  we  chose. 

When  we  reached  a  point  opposite  the 
ponds  we  pulled  in  and  soon  had  camp 


AFTER  DUCKS  43 

made  among  some  jack  oaks  that  grew 
well  above  the  river,  and  when  darkness 
came  we  were  comfortably  housed. 

Ducks  had  been  passed  on  the  way  up, 
flying  in  many  directions,  but  none  came 
near  enough  for  a  shot,  as  we  were  in  mid 
stream  and  only  traveling,  not  taking  any 
measures  to  conceal  either  ourselves  or  our 
boat. 

Darkness  settled  down  with  a  muddy 
sky  and  a  promise  of  dirty  weather,  a 
prospect  that  set  the  boy  to  whistling  con 
tentedly  as  he  put  the  finishing  touches  on 
the  camp. 

"Goin'  to  git  uh  nor  Vest  wind  in  th' 
mornin',  I  reckon, "  he  said,  with  a  yawn; 
"  V  if  we  do,  we'll  git  ducks,  too,  'cause 
they'll  come  a-hummin'  from  th'  north  if 
it  comes  uh  little  cold. 

"Less  go  to  bed,  sost  we  can  git  up 
early." 

We  curled  up  in  our  blankets,  and  the 
last  thing  I  remember  was  watching  the 
flare  of  red  spring  out  of  the  bed  of  coals 
where  our  fire  had  been,  every  time  a  little 


44  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

whirl  of  wind  eddied  down  through  the 
oaks  and  bulged  the  tent  flaps  open. 

"Hay!  Coin'  t'  sleep  all  day?" 

The  boy  was  up  and  dressed  and  reach 
ing  for  the  strings  that  held  the  flaps  of 
the  tent  together  when  I  opened  my  eyes. 
It  was  still  dark  as  pitch,  and  the  boy  had 
the  lantern  lit  inside  the  tent. 

A  cold,  raw  wind  was  hurrying  down 
the  river,  tossing  the  branches  and  making 
the  trees  moan  in  a  desolate  way,  and  the 
low -hanging  clouds  hurried  by  with  it. 

"Come  on,  less  git  uh  hustle  on  us,  or 
it'll  be  daylight  'fore  we  git  started," 
said  the  boy,  as  he  skurried  around  mak 
ing  preparations  for  our  morning  meal. 

I  got  the  guns  and  shells  out,  and  pre 
pared  the  camp  for  leaving,  while  he 
was  busy  with  the  frying  pan  and  coffee 
pot. 

"They're  a-flyin',"  he  said,  as  a  flock 
of  ducks  hurtled  by  on  whistling  wings, 
following  the  course  of  the  river. 

After  breakfast  we  hurried  to  the  pond 
in  the  timber  edge,  and  were  soon  con- 


AFTEE  DUCKS  45 

cealed  in  the  high  slough  grass  on  the  lee 
side  of  the  water,  a  position  the  boy 
selected. 

"Yeh  see,  th'  ducks  '11  come  in  with  th' 
wind  'n'  shoot  down  this  way,  'n'en  circle 
back  'gainst  th'  wind.  They  come  like 
uh  streak,  'n'en  when  they  pass  th'  pond 
they  come  back  slow  'gainst  th'  wind,  sost 
to  'light;  'n'en,  when  they  pass  us,  is  th' 
time  to  plunk  it  into  'em.  They  are 
goin'  too  fast  with  th'  wind,  but  they're 
easy  comin'  back." 

We  had -only  got  comfortably  settled 
when  a  whistle  of  wings  passed  over  us, 
going  with  the  speed  of  an  express  train, 
with  the  wind. 

"Teal,"  said  the  boy,  though  it  was 
still  too  dark  to  see  more  than  a  bit  of 
swiftly  moving  black  cloud  against  the 
sky  as  they  passed. 

"They'll  be  back  'n  uh  minute,  'n'en 
whale  away  at  'em  as  they  pass.  Shoot  at 
th'  bunch  if  yeh  can't  see  uh  single  bird," 
said  the  boy. 

Sure   enough,  a  few  minutes  after  the 


46  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

sharp  whistle  of  wings  swiftly  beating  the 
air  sounded  again  almost  over  us. 

"Give  it  to  'em,"  said  the  boy,  as  he 
turned  both  barrels  loose  at  the  moving 
mass.  I  did  the  same,  though  neither 
could  tell  whether  we  had  killed  a  bird  or 
scored  a  miss  after  the  flash  of  the  guns. 

"Reckon  we  must  'a'  got  one  er  two, 
anyhow,"  the  boy  remarked.  "They 
can't  get  away,  'n'  we  can  find  'em  when 
it  gits  light,  if  they  did,"  he  continued. 

When  the  next  flock  came  the  morning 
was  gray  enough  to  pick  out  our  birds, 
and  three  teal  fell  as  the  guns  barked. 
These  the  boy  quickly  brought  in,  and 
again  we  crouched,  waiting  in  the  grass. 

A  bunch  of  five  mallards  came  next,  and 
we  stopped  every  one,  a  proceeding  that 
so  elated  the  boy  that  he  characterized  it 
as  "a  whole  lot  lucky." 

Ducks  in  job  lots  kept  coming,  some 
passing  without  giving  us  a  shot,  others 
circling  back  only  to  fall  as  the  guns 
cracked,  and  the  pile  grew  beside  us  until 
we  had  twenty-nine  between  us  for  the 


AFTER  DUCKS  47 

morning's  shooting  when  the  flight  ceased 
and  we  had  gathered  in  all  the  cripples. 

"Less  take  these  to  camp,  'n'en  go  over 
to  th'  other  pond,"  said  the  boy. 
"Reckon  we  can  git  uh  few  more  over 
there  if  we  sneak  up  on  'em,  'n'en  we'll 
sure  get  uh  few  jacks,  too,  round  th' 
springy  end." 

We  packed  our  game  to  the  tent  and 
then  went  over  to  the  pasture  pond,  walk 
ing  up  to  it  through  a  little  draw  that  put 
into  the  valley. 

"Oh,  gee!"  said  the  boy,  in  a  stage 
whisper,  as  he  peeped  over  a  little  bank  of 
earth  that  hid  us  from  the  water. 

"They's  about  fifty  geese  out  there,  set- 
tin'  all  tucked  up  like  uh  lot  o'  mummies. 
Got  any  big  shot?" 

"No,  nothing  but  fours,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  here;  pull  yours  out,"  he  said, 
swiftly  throwing  out  his  duck  loads  and 
replacing  them  with  BB  shells. 

"I  got  lots  of  'em,  'n'  you  can  change 
yer  shot.  Wish  we  both  had  th'  same 
size  guns." 


48  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

He  was  digging  out  the  wads  from  a 
couple  of  his  12-gauge  shells  with  his 
hunting  knife  as  he  spoke,  and  I  was 
working  nervously  with  a  couple  of  my 
No.  10s. 

When  we  had  reloaded  my  shells  with 
the  heavy  shot,  the  boy  said:  "Now,  all 
ready;  we'll  count  three  'n'  raise  up  'n' 
shoot.  You  take  th'  left  side  o'  th'  flock 
and  I'll  take  th'  right.  Git  in  two  shots 
'n'en  load  juss  as  quick  as  ever  you  can, 
'cause  they  may  circle  back." 

The  suspense  was  ended  when  the  boy 
said ' '  three, ' '  and  we  turned  four  loads  loose 
among  the  unsuspecting  geese  at  a  distance 
of  thirty  or  forty  yards.  A  crackling 
flap  of  beating  wings,  mixed  with  fright 
ened  honkings  and  a  gabble  of  sounds, 
smote  our  ears  as  the  flock  took  to  the  air, 
leaving  six  of  their  number  unable  to  rise. 
The  boy  threw  in  another  shell  and 
pitched  the  load  after  the  retreating  birds, 
and  another  one  spread  his  wings  and 
sailed  out  of  the  bunch  at  a  flat  angle, 
striking  the  ground  a  quarter  of  a  mile 


AFTER  DUCKS  49 

away  in  the  open  pasture.  It  took  three 
more  shots  to  stop  the  cripples  before  we 
could  gather  up  the  dead. 

"Gee !  ain't  this  luck  for  yeh?"  said  the 
boy,  fairly  beside  himself,  as  he  ran  after 
the  cripples,  working  like  a  ten  horse 
power  engine. 

When  we  had  our  six  piled  up  the  boy 
said:  "Now  I'll  go  V  git  that  cripple 
out'n  th'  pasture,  'n'  you  better  circle 
around  th'  other  end  of  th'  pond  by  th' 
springs,  'cause  maybe  you'll  git  a  jack  er 
two  in  there  yet." 

I  did  as  directed,  and  got  a  pair  of  fine 
fat  snipes  out  of  five  that  pitched  up  from 
the  marsh.  Looking  toward  the  boy,  I 
saw  him  foot-racing  the  wounded  goose, 
which  could  half  run,  half  fly,  and  keep 
ahead  of  him. 

After  chasing  it  for  a  couple  of  hundred 
yards,  he  stopped,  threw  up  his  gun,  and 
as  the  white  puff  of  smoke  pitched  out  of 
the  gun,  the  goose  doubled  up.  Coming 
back,  we  gathered  up  our  game  and  struck 
for  camp,  the  boy  keeping  up  a  running 


50  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

fire  of  talk  on  geese  in  general  and  these 
geese  in  particular,  as  proud  of  potting  the 
seven  as  though  it  had  been  the  making  of 
a  million  dollars — and  probably  more  satis 
fied  with  it. 

When  we  reached  camp  he  was  willing 
to  go  home,  and  we  soon  had  the  boat 
under  way.  At  the  maples  we  re-cached 
his  camp  outfit  and  continued  down 
stream,  reaching  home  before  dark,  and 
every  one  that  saw  us  on  the  way  home 
from  the  boat  had  to  stop  and  ask  a  thou 
sand  questions  about  those  blessed  geese. 


TELL-TALE  TRACKS 

THE  sky  was  gray  and  dull,  hanging  like 
a  sheet  of  lead  over  the  world,  and  there 
was  a  "snowy  feel"  to  the  air  that  seemed 
the  forerunner  of  a  storm.  Sounds  were 
muffled  and  subdued,  and  there  was  a 
waiting  air  over  everything. 

The  hoy  came  swinging  around  the  cor 
ner,  his  coat  wide  open  and  hands  deep  in 
the  inner  recesses  of  his  cavernous  pock 
ets,  as  he  strode  along  whistling  merrily 
and  glancing  upward  occasionally. 

"Say,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  me,  "goin'  to 
have  uh  trackin'  snow  to-night.  Less  go 
huntin'  to-morrow,  will  yeh?  I  know 
where  they's  uh  lot  o'  quails  'n'  cottontails 
'n'  jacks  'n' — maybe  uh  few  chickens. 
Can't  tell  fer  sure  'bout  th'  chickens, 
'cause  they  don't  stay  much  in  one  place 
in  th'  winter,  'n'en  they're  pretty  cute 
too  'n'  hard  to  get  up  to.  But  th'  quails 
51 


52  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

V  the  rest  are  all  right,  V  we  can  get  all 
we  want.  Will  yeh  go?" 

"Yes,  if  it  snows  I'm  with  you,"  I 
answered,  for  I  felt  like  taking  a  trip  with 
the  gun,  and  was  glad  of  any  excuse  that 
offered. 

"Where'll  we  get  a  dog?" 

"Huh!  don't  want  no  dog,"  the  boy 
said,  disdainfully. 

"Dogs  is  uh  nuisance.  They  run 
around  sost  yeh  can't  git  uh  thing  'less 
yeh  juss  happen  to.  I'll  show  yeh  more 
game  'n'  yeh  can  shoot,  all  right,  an'  I 
don't  want  uh  dog  neither.  Take  lots  o' 
shells  'n'  be  ready  for  all  day  'n'  we'll  go 
over  among  th'  breaks  by  Stoll's  place. 
Some  good  ground  over  there  'n'  we  can 
have  uh  bushel  o'  fun.  I'll  be  ready 
'bout  half  past  seven  'n'  come  this  way." 

"All  right,  I'll  be  ready,"  I  answered, 
and  the  boy  said,  "So  long,"  as  he  dis 
appeared  in  the  fast-gathering  darkness. 

When  morning  came  there  was  a  fine 
tracking  snow  on  the  ground,  and  the  boy 
and  sunrise  came  together. 


TELL-TALE  TRACKS  53 

We  shouldered  our  guns  and  plunder  and 
hurried  through  the  half -awake  town, 
across  the  river  and  into  the  corn-clad 
hills,  where  the  breaks  ran  back  to  the 
divide. 

"We'll  go  over  along  that  hedge  first," 
said  the  boy.  "You  take  one  side  'n'  I'll 
take  th'  other,  'n'  we  ought  to  git  uh  cot 
tontail  er  two.  Yeh  see,  they  ain't  went 
to  th'  brush,  'n'  they're  kind  o'  hangin' 
'round  their  summer  stompin'  grounds 
yet.  When  th'  snow  gets  uh  little  deeper 
they  go  to  th'  brush  'n'  weed  patches  'n' 
corn-fields,  'n'en  you  got  to  hunt  different. 
Look  out  now  which  way  yeh  shoot,  'n' 
don't  shoot  a  tall  unless  yeh  know  where  I 
am,  'n'  I'll  doth' same." 

We  walked  along  for  a  few  hundred 
yards  before  the  boy  said,  "Woap,  I  see 
one!"  I  stopped,  and  his  gun  boomed, 
tearing  up  the  snow  at  the  foot  of  the 
hedge  where  a  lot  of  "tumble  weed"  had 
blown  up  and  lodged  against  it. 

The  rabbit  was  killed  sitting  in  his  form, 
and  as  the  boy  went  to  pick  him  up  a 


54  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

bunch  of  quail  whirred  up  a  little  further 
ahead  and  went  on  down  the  hedge, 
pitching  to  the  ground  again  within  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards. 

1  'Gee!"  said  the  boy.  "Now  we're 
goin'  to  have  uh  picnic,  sure!  They  lit 
in  th'  hedge  V  they'll  git  up  scattering 
sost  we  can  have  wing  shots  at  'em  one  at 
uh  time.  That's  th'  way  I  like  'em. 
Now  you  take  th'  ones  that  git  up  on  your 
side  an'  I'll  take  care  o'  th'  ones  on  this 
side,  'n'  we'll  have  some  fun.  Look  out 
fer  tracks  too,  'cause  some  of  'em  may  run 
out  in  th'  grass.  Ready?" 

4 'Yes,  go  ahead,"  I  answered,  "I'm  with 
you." 

Slowly  we  went  to  the  place  where  the 
birds  had  pitched  down,  and  suddenly 
"Whir-r"  went  one  of  them  on  my  side, 
and  so  startled  me  that  I  forgot  to  shoot. 
"Why  didn't  yeh  git  him?"  asked  the 
boy,  laughingly. 

"Whir-r-r — bang!"  on  the  boy's  side. 
"Got  him,"  he  said,  laconically,  as  he 
broke  his  gun  and  threw  in  a  fresh  shell. 


TELL-TALE  TRACKS  55 

"Now  look  out  V  when  yeh  see  one, 
shoot  whether  yeh  get  'im  er  not,  'n' 
watch  'im  down,"  he  added,  musingly. 
In  a  few  moments  I  rather  enjoyed  the 
unexpected  rattle  of  wings  and  swift  flight 
of  the  birds,  and  was  blazing  away  as 
though  I  had  shot  that  way  all  my 
life. 

The  boy's  gun  was  busy  too,  and  when 
we  counted  heads  at  the  end  of  the  fence 
we  had  nine  fine  quail  between  us.  I  had 
missed  as  many  as  I  had  shot,  and  the  boy 
gave  me  advice  in  this,  manner:  "Yeh 
got  t'  shoot  snapshot;  this  way,  see?  Now 
th'  way  I  do  is  to  go  'long  with  my  gun 
down  in  both  hands,  my  thumb  on  th' 
hammer  'n'  my  finger  on  th'  trigger,  'n' 
when  th'  bird  gits  up  I  juss  watch  th' 
bird  'n'  jerk  up  th'  ole  gun  'n'  blaze 
away.  As  I  pull  up,  I  cock  it  'n'  touch 
th'  trigger  as  she  touches  my  shoulder. 
That  way  yeh  can't  hardly  miss  'n'  it's 
easy  when  yeh  git  th'  hang  of  it.  Yer 
gun  jumps  t'  yer  shoulder  juss  right  on 
uh  level  with  yer  eye.  So  all  yeh  got  t' 


56  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

do  is  t'  shoot  'n'  down  goes  Mr.  Quail. 
Juss  as  easy  as  eatin'  pie." 

1  'All  right,  I'll  try  and  remember  what 
you've  told  me,"  I  answered,  "though  I 
expect  to  score  a  whole  lot  of  misses  before 
I  get  the  hang  of  it." 

We  wandered  along  tlirough  several 
cornfields,  and  at  last  came  to  the  edge  of 
a  piece  of  wild  hay  land. 

A  jack  rabbit  track  struck  out  of  the 
corn  into  the  grass  just  where  we  came  to 
the  edge  of  it. 

"Now  we'll  trail  this  feller  up  'n'  git 
Jim, "  said  the  boy.  "Reckon  he's  strikin' 
fer  home  when  he  made  these  tracks." 
The  boy  took  the  trail,  telling  me  to  be 
ready  "  'cause  he  might  git  up  a-runnin' 
any  time." 

Winding  about  through  the  knee-deep 
tangle  of  wild  grass,  we  followed  the  trail, 
sometimes  so  broken  by  the  snow  that  had 
fallen  in  it  as  to  be  nearly  lost  to  any  one 
but  the  boy,  who  followed  it  swiftly  and 
walked  with  a  long,  easy  stride. 

Presently  he  stopped   short  and   said: 


TELL-TALE  TRACKS  57 

"Now  this  feller  was  a-huntin'  uh  place  t5 
sleep  when  he  come  out  here,  'n'  he's 
fooled  around  this  way  'cause  th'  snow 
hangs  on  th'  grass  too  much  'n'  he  knows 
it'd  come  dribblin'  down  all  over  him  if 
he  holed  up  'minder  uh  bunch  in  here. 
Now  I  reckon  he'll  git  disgusted  purty 
soon  'n'  light  out  right  'crost  too-ward 
that  pasture  over  there  'n'  set  down  'n 
under  uh  wad  o'  bunch  grass  in  there. 
Yeh  see,  th'  bunch  grass  don't  hold  th' 
snow  like  this  blue  stem  does,  'n'  Mr. 
Rabbit  knows  it,  'n'  he'll  be  mighty  apt 
to  be  in  that  pasture,  'n'  not  far  in  either. 
C'm  on,  less  go  git  'im." 

Again  we  followed  the  winding  of  the 
trail,  and  soon  ifc  struck  a  straight  line, 
with  long  distances  between  the  tracks, 
showing  that  the  jack  had  fulfilled  the 
boy's  predictions,  based  on  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  jack  rabbits  and  what  he 
read  in  the  trail  of  this  one's  doings. 

We  had  just  crawled  through  the  barbed- 
wire  fence  that  surrounded  the  pasture 
when  a  flurry  of  snow  made  a  halo  around 


58  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

a  bunch  of  grass,  and  out  of  it  came  the 
rabbit  under  full  sail. 

"Shoot!"  said  the  boy,  and  my  gun 
sounded  a  "hurry-up"  call  that  had  the 
effect  of  lengthening  the  distance  the  flee 
ing  game  made  between  his  footprints. 
Like  an  echo  the  boy's  gun  cracked,  and 
the  jack  did  a  combination  handspring 
running  fall,  mixed  indiscriminately  with 
a  dozen  or  so  first-class  somersaults,  bring 
ing  up  on  his  back  with  a  thump,  quite 
dead.  That  snap  shot  of  his  did  it  quickly 
and  effectively. 

We  were  now  on  top  of  the  divide,  and 
our  tramp  had  so  roused  the  inner  man 
that  lunch  was  decidedly  the  thing,  and 
it  was  forthwith  produced.  We  could  see 
miles  of  country  spread  out  in  gentle  roll 
ing  hills,  white  with  the  mantle  of  new 
snow,  against  which  the  dark  lines  of 
timber  along  the  creeks  and  river  wound  in 
contrast.  The  winter  sun  shone  with  the 
prairie  brilliancy  and  the  ah*  was  just  cold 
enough  to  be  bracing.  It  was  a  day  to 
tramp  abroad  and  enjoy  shooting — one  of 


TELL-TALE  TRACKS  59 

those  rare  winter  days  that  arfc  as  bracing 
as  good  wine. 

Lunch  disposed  of,  we  struck  out  again 
through  the  withered  fields  of  corn,  across 
the  tangle  of  wild  grasses  and  through  the 
weed  patches  that  filled  the  bottoms  of  the 
breaks  or  draws.  Cottontails  scurried  out 
and  turned  handsprings  as  the  guns 
cracked,  quail  whirred  up  into  the  air  and 
came  down  dead  as  the  smoke  curled  from 
the  muzzles,  until  the  sun  hung  low  and 
our  hunting  coats  were  stuffed  with  game. 

4  *  Less  go  home,"  said  the  boy  at  last, 
and  then  we  pulled  the  shells  out  and 
slung  our  guns  with  straps  over  our 
shoulders  so  we  could  "hit  the  trail" 
without  hindrance. 

"Gee,  I'm  tired!"  said  the  boy. 
"Never  seem  t'  git  tired  tull  I  strike  for 
home,  'n'en  ever'  step  seems  like  it's 
harder 'n  th'  last  one,  'n'  when  I  git  home 
I'm  plumb  done  up." 

"Same  here,"  I  answered. 

The  sun  hung  like  a  ball  of  gold  and 
reflected  pink  tints  on  the  snow  as  we 


60  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

crossed  the  river,  sleeping  under  its  icy 
coat,  and  climbed  the  hill  into  town, 
where  the  hlue  smoke  spirals  wound  up 
from  chimneys  and  savory  odors  came  down 
the  gentle  evening  air,  as  the  busy  house 
wives  prepared  the  supper  for  tired  men. 

"Hello,  been  hnntin'?"  "Git  any 
thing?"  inquired  our  acquaintances  as  we 
passed. 

"Yep,"  answered  the  boy,  and  they  all 
knew  him  well  enough  to  know  that  he 
meant  a  good  bag. 

"Well,  so  long,"  said  the  boy,  "lemme 
know  when  yeh  run  out  o'  meat.  I  know 
where  wo  c'n  git  more." 

"So  long,"  I  answered,  turning  in  at 
the  gate  and  walking  up  the  broad  path  of 
light  that  made  a  ruddy  glow  on  the 
creaking  sidewalk. 


WE  GO  A-FISHING 

WHEK  the  snow  banks  had  disappeared 
and  the  pussy  willows  were  covered  with 
little  balls  of  bloom  that  looked  strangely 
like  white  caterpillars,  I  met  the  boy  on 
the  way  down  town  one  morning. 

"Hello!  Say,  gee!  th'  spickerls  (wall 
eyed  pike)  V  runnin',  'n'  we  c'n  have  uh 
picnic.  Less  go  'n'  git  th'  fishin'  tackle, 
'n'  have  some  fun,  will  yeh?" 

He  was  all  excitement,  and  eager  to  wet 
a  line,  after  being  kept  away  from  fish  by 
the  ice  of  the  winter. 

"Are  you  sure  they  will  bite  this  early?" 
I  asked. 

"Sure!  I  was  juss  down  by  the  dam, 
'n'  th'  water  is  all  cleared  up  again,  'n'  I 
saw  uh  whole  lot  of  'em  right  at  th'  east 
end.  They  wasn't  suckers  er  redhorse  er 
buffalo,  either;  they  was  juss  spickerls,  'n' 
lots  of  'em.  Say,  we  c'n  have  more  fun 
'n'  uh  box  o'  monkeys — some  ole  Balaams 
61 


62  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

'mongst  'em,  too.  C'm  on  'n  git  yer  line, 
'n'  I'll  hustle  th'  minnies,  'n'  we'll  sure 
git  'em!" 

"All  right,  we'll  go,"  I  answered,  for  I 
was  just  as  ready  for  a  go  at  the  pike- 
perch  as  he  was,  and  if  they  bit  at  all  I 
knew  we  would  have  good  sport  and  get  a 
mess  of  fine  fresh  fish — a  welcome  addition 
to  the  larder  when  you  catch  and  dress 
them  yourself,  too. 

"I'll  meet  yeh  at  th'  dam,"  said  the 
boy,  as  he  started  for  his  outfit  in  a  regu 
lar  boy  hurry ;  and  you  know  the  busy  man 
can  never  "get  such  a  hustle"  into  his 
gait  as  an  enthusiastic  youth  can  com 
municate  to  his. 

Shortly  afterward  I  found  him  wading 
in  the  swirls  that  threatened  to  engulf  his 
long  rubber  boots,  working  like  a  beaver 
to  seine  the  needed  bait.  Minnows  were 
scarce,  but  he  soon  had  a  couple  of  dozen 
in  the  bucket,  and  we  clambered  over  the 
flume,  white  with  the  flour  dust  that 
sifted  down  from  the  rumbling  mill  on  the 
bank. 


WE  GO  A-FISHING  63 

"Now  take  yer  line  'n'  put  juss  uh  little 
bit  o'  sinker  on'  'bout  three  feet  from  th' 
hook,  'n'en  hook  yer  minnie  sost  he 
hangs  straight  'n'  nice,  like  he  was 
alive,"  said  the  boy. 

uYeh  see,"  he  continued,  "th'  swirls 
'n'  eddies  down  there  '11  keep  him  a-wig- 
glin'  'round  like  he  was  a-swimmin',  'n' 
when  oP  Mr.  Spickerl  sees  him  he  juss 
opens  that  mouth  o'  his,  'n'  down  goes 
yer  bait,  hook  'n'  all.  This  time  o'  year 
they  ain't  quite  so  lively  as  they  are  'long 
'bout  June,  'n'  they  kind  o'  swim  away 
slow  'n'  don't  get  hooked  right  at  first,  so 
yeh  don't  want  to  be  too  quick  'n'  pull  it 
away  from  'em.  When  yeh  see  yer  line 
begin  to  move  crost  th'  current  kind  o' 
stiddy,  juss  let  him  go  'n'  give  him 
plenty  o'  time,  'n'en  jerk  kind  o' — er  don't 
jerk  a  tall;  juss  give  him  kind  o'  uh  pull, 
sost  to  sock  th'  hook  into  his  mouth 
solid.  If  yeh  jerk  quick  yer  liable  to  jerk 
it  away  'n'  not  git  him,  see?" 

We  had  baited  and  cast  into  the  boiling 
eddies  under  the  fall  of  the  dam,  and  sat 


64  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

down  on  the  stone  pier  waiting.  A  strong, 
fresh  wind  came  up  out  of  the  south, 
bringing  the  perfume  of  the  willow  cat 
kins,  the  bursting  cottonwood  buds,  and 
that  earthy  smell  of  spring  when  the  old 
world  wakes  up  again. 

The  day  was  bright  and  warm ;  robins 
and  bluebirds  crossed  the  sky  at  intervals, 
bound  north,  or  just  house  hunting  there 
by  the  peaceful  stream.  The  dull  roar  of 
the  falling  flood  filled  the  air  and  sung  a 
monotonous  chant  that  somehow  goes 
well  with  fishing. 

"Yeh  got  one!"  said  the  boy. 

My  line  was  moving  out  steadily  across 
the  foam-flecked  current,  and  I  let  it  go 
forty  or  fifty  feet,  then  struck  as  I  would 
for  bass.  Instantly  the  line  tightened 
and  began  to  sing  through  the  swift  water 
as  the  reel  screamed  and  the  rod  bowed  to 
the  strain. 

"I  got  one,  too!"  was  the  boy's  next 
remark,  as  he  scrambled  down  on  top  of 
the  dam,  so  we  would  not  foul  each  other. 
I  was  too  busy  to  watch  the  boy,  and  he 


WE  GO  A-FISHING  65 

had  landed  his  with  a  long-handled  net 
before  I  got  mine  where  he  couldn't  fight. 
When  I  brought  him  to  the  top,  the  boy 
landed  him  for  me,  and  we  had  a  pair,  each 
of  about  four  and  a  half  pounds. 

4 'Gee!  this  is  tli'  right  kind,"  said  the 
boy,  as  he  baited  again  and  cast  for 
another  chance  in  the  river  lottery.  One 
by  one  they  struck  and  fought  a  vain  fight, 
until  our  string  grew  long  and  heavy, 
while  the  boy's  eyes  shone  and  a  healthy 
outdoor  flush  tinted  his  beardless  face — 
enjoyment  personified,  if  I  ever  saw  it. 

Several  five  and  six  pounders  had  been 
vanquished,  and  we  were  thinking  of 
going  home,  when  the  boy  struck  again  and 
then  yelled :  * '  Gee !  I ' ve  got  uh  whale ! ' ' 

Sure  enough,  his  rod  was  see-sawing 
furiously,  and  the  reel  screamed  above  the 
roar  of  the  flood  as  his  fish  rushed  into  the 
current  and  far  out  into  the  river,  in 
spite  of  the  drag. 

The  boy  fought  him  coolly  enough  until 
the  great  fish  leaped  out  of  the  water  a 
hundred  feet  away,  giving  us  a  momentary 


66  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

glimpse  of  what  the  boy  called  the  "daddy 
of  all  the  spickerls,"  and  then  became  so 
excited  that  he  stepped  to  near  the  edge 
of  the  dam  and  went  over  the  plank 
"apron"  that  pitched,  moss  covered  and 
slimy,  to  the  river  below. 

Luckily  the  water  only  trickled  over  the 
top  just  here,  and  was  only  about  waist 
deep  below.  Almost  before  the  water 
that  flew  up  as  he  dropped  in  had  reached 
its  level  the  boy  bobbed  up,  scrambled  to 
his  feet  and  began  reeling  in  his  line  as  he 
stood  there,  waist  deep  in  the  cold  water, 
dripping,  shivering,  but  full  of  fight  and 
anxious  to  get  his  fish. 

When  he  found  he  still  had  his  fish 
hooked  he  let  out  a  yell  and  scrambled  up 
on  a  little  rocky  shelf  that  jutted  out  from 
the  pier  foundation,  and  then  got  down  to 
the  business  of  fighting  that  big  pike. 

Time  and  again  he  got  him  up  only  to 
have  him  rush  away  at  a  speed  that 
threatened  wreck  for  the  rod,  reel  and 
line.  The  boy  said  nothing,  but  fought 
like  a  general,  eyes  and  hands  working 


WE  GO  A-FISHING  67 

together  in  cool  precision  that  was  a  joy  to 
the  onlooker. 

I  had  climbed  down  the  niches  in  the 
stone  pier,  and  stood  ready  with  the  net  as 
soon  as  the  fish  should  come  within  reach. 
Several  times  I  saw  him  rush  through  the 
water  under  me,  and  each  time  his  dark 
length  seemed  longer,  and  I  began  to 
think  he  would  surely  get  away,  just 
because  he  was  the  "big  one." 

At  last  he  came  within  reach,  broke 
water  and  lashed  out  with  his  broad  tail  in 
two  or  three  exhausted,  weak  splashes; 
the  net  shot  under  and  raised  him,  a 
gasping  captive,  still  snapping  his  fanged 
jaws,  and  flashing  fight  from  his  big  eyes. 

Then  the  boy  went  wild.  "Yip,  yip, 
hooray!  Gee!  yip!  yip!"  he  said,  danc 
ing  around  in  the  deeper  water,  where  he 
had  slipped  in  his  excitement,  and  gone 
under  again  with  a  gurgle  as  he  disap 
peared. 

He  forgot  about  the  cold,  about  being 
soaked,  about  everything  except  his  fish, 
and  I  had  to  talk  to  him  five  minutes 


68  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

before  he  understood  that  he  would  have 
to  wade  around  the  flume  and  carry  the 
fish  that  way  while  I  brought  the  rest  over 
the  top. 

When  we  got  together  on  the  bank  we 
voted  unanimously  that  this  fish  was  a 
sure  whale,  and  that  we  had  enough. 
Rods  were  quickly  unjointed  and  packed, 
and  then  we  went  up  town  to  hunt  a  pair 
of  scales. 

Sixteen  pounds  strong  was  the  verdict, 
and  the  fish  looked  half  as  much  more. 
No  one  in  town  had  ever  heard  of  one  as 
large  being  caught  in  the  stream,  and  I 
believe  it  is  the  record  fish  yet  in  this 
Western  river,  for  times  are  changing  and 
fish  growing  smaller  there  each  year. 

This  stream  waters  one  continuous  farm 
now  from  source  to  mouth,  and  the  black 
soil  has  made  a  slimy,  muddy  bottom  and 
a  murky  flood  where  only  suckers  and 
bullheads  dwell,  instead  of  the  clear, 
swift-flowing  river  that  was  there  babbling 
along  over  its  rocky  bed  when  the  boy 
caught  the  "daddy  of  all  the  spickerls." 


JUST  A  LAZY  AFTEENOON 


Saturday  in  June  the  boy  walked 
into  the  shed  where  I  was  painting  a  new 
canoe,  sauntered  around  the  boat  and 
inspected  it  with  critical  eye,  squinting 
aft  from  the  bow  and  "lining  up"  the 
bends. 

"Good  job  that.  Got  'er  's  even  as  one 
'n'  one.  Ought  to  be  uh  gickaloodin 
traveler." 

"Ought  to  be  what?"  I  asked. 

"A  gickaloodin  traveler.  Don't  yeh 
know  what  that  means?"  he  answered  with 
a  grin. 

"No,  I  never  heard  that  before." 

"Well,  that's  th'  same  as  good,  only  it's 
better,"  he  replied.  "Learnt  that  from  a 
nold  feller  that  ust  to  live  down  on  th' 
Missoury  River,  name  o'  Poo  Gee.  He  ust 
to  always  say  'Poo  Gee!'  ever'  time  'at 
he  felt  like  swearin',  'n'  that's  how  he  got 
69 


70  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

his  name.  Dnnno  what  his  reel  name 
was,  er  nobody  else,  I  guess.  Ever'body 
juss  called  him  Poo  Gee.  He  had  uh  lot 
o'  names  fer  things,  like  gickaloodin 
'stead  o'  good,  'n'  joistaboomerang  for  uh 
fioatin'  log.  'N'  one  o'  these  logs  'at 
seesaws  up  'n'  down  in  uh  current  he 
called  uh  joisticutis,  'n'en  uh  pine  timber 
he  called  uh  pine  joistus. 

4 'He  's  uh  queer  ole  feller,  'n'  'bout 
half  crazy,  I  guess;  but  he  knowed  how 
to  fish  'n'  hunt  aw  right,  'n'  lived  in  uh 
kind  o'  shanty  down  there',  fishin'  fer 
market." 

"Well,  he  must  be  a  character." 

"Oh,  he's  dead  now,"  answered  the  boy. 

"Say,"  he  said,  changing  the  subject, 
"less  go  out  'n  th'  woods  's  afternoon, 
will  yeh?  I'm  feelin'  kind  o'  lazy  'n'  no 
account  like,  'n'  want  to  go  somers. 
Don't  want  to  go  fishin'  'n'  hain't 
nothin'  to  shoot,  but  I  juss  got  nh  ressless 
notion  I  want  to  go  out'n  th'  timber.  If 
I  hook  up  'n'  come  over  after  dinner,  will 
yeh  go  'long?" 


JUST  A  LAZY  AFTERNOON    71 

"Yes,  I  guess  so.  We  might  take  the 
rods  along  and  fish  some  too,"  I  suggested. 

"Nope,"  he  answered,  "don't  want  to 
fish,  juss  want  to  lazy  'round  in  th'  shade 
somers  where  they  ain't  nobody  to  bother. " 

"All  right,"  I  answered,  laughing. 
"If  that's  the  way  you  feel  I'll  just  go  and 
loaf  away  a  half  day  too." 

"Aw  right,  then,  I'll  be  over  'bout  one 
with  th'  buggy.  So  long." 

Then  he  sauntered  up  the  walk,  one 
hand  thrust  deep  in  his  trousers  pocket 
and  his  broad  hat  tilted  at  a  dangerous 
angle  over  his  right  eye ;  under  the  fleck 
ing  shadows  of  the  grape  arbor  and  out  of 
sight,  strolling  lazily,  but  with  the  easy 
grace  that  is  as  natural  as  breathing  to  the 
outdoor  man. 

It  is  health  and  unconscious  strength 
that  makes  the  springing  step  and  the 
easy,  supple  roll  in  the  gait — a  mark  that 
nature  puts  on  her  gentlemen. 

In  the  early  afternoon  we  drove  out  into 
the  country,  past  the  growing  crops,  past 
the  shady  hedges,  past  the  farmhouses 


72  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

where  busy  housewives  hastened  through 
their  many  occupations,  ofttimes  accom 
panying  their  movements  with  simple 
song,  not  very  musical,  it  is  true,  but 
from  satisfied  minds  that  helped  lighten 
labor. 

The  farmhouse  dogs  ran  out  as  we 
passed,  and  fretted  themselves  unneces 
sarily,  barking  until  we  were  well  away 
from  the  house.  We  drove  contentedly 
and  unmindful  of  these  things,  chatting 
in  a  lazy  way  befitting  the  day  and  the 
trip,  the  boy  pointing  out  places  along  the 
route  where  he  had  had  sport  with  the 
shotgun  in  other  days. 

A  butcher  bird  flitted  out  of  the  hedge 
and  across  the  road,  alighting  on  a  barbed 
wire  fence.  The  boy's  quick  eye  noted 
that  the  bird  carried  a  burden,  so  he 
pulled  up  the  horse  and  we  sat  watch 
ing. 

The  bird  eyed  us  suspiciously  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then,  satisfied  that  we 
meant  no  evil,  deliberately  impaled  his 
burden  on  a  barb,  flicked  his  beak  with  a 


JUST  A  LAZY  AFTERNOON    73 

sidewise  motion  on  the  wire,  and  winged 
his  way  across  the  field. 

"Know  what  he  was  doin'?"  asked  the 
boy. 

"No,  I'm  not  up  in  that  fellow's 
ways,"  I  answered. 

"He's  hangin'  np  his  supply  o'  grub. 
See,  he's  got  uh  lot  o'  truck  strung  along 
th'  wire.  Whoa,  Bill!  Less  go  over  'n' 
see  what  he's  got." 

We  jumped  out  and  inspected  the  wire, 
finding  two  mice,  some  big  brown  crickets 
and  nearly  a  dozen  big  grasshoppers, 
besides  some  other  insects  of  the  beetle 
variety. 

"See,  he's  layin'  in  uh  stock  o'  grub," 
said  the  boy.  "Now  yeh'd  think  he'd  eat 
all  o'  them  things  after  he  went  to  th' 
trouble  o'  ketchin'  'em  'n'  hangin'  'em 
up,  wouldn't  yeh?" 

"Yes,  I  would  think  so,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  he  don't,"  said  the  boy.  "At 
least  he  don't  always,  'cause  I've  found 
this  kind  o'  uh  layout  right  'n  winter,  'n' 
everything  on  th'  wire'd  be  as  dry  as 


74  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

powder,  'n'  uh  mouse  'd  starve  tryin*  to 
live  off  of  'em.  These  butcher  birds, 
shreeks  er  shrikes  er  somep'n  like  that,  I 
b'leeve  is  th'  right  name  of  'em,  seems 
juss  to  have  uh  leanin'  too-words  killin' 
things  'n'  leavin'  'em  stuck  'round  this 
way.  They  are  cur'ous  kind  o'  birds, 
anyways." 

The  boy  went  on  enlightening  me  on 
the  ways  of  butcher  birds  as  we  circled 
toward  the  river.  We  soon  went  into  the 
gate  and  through  the  blue  grass  pasture, 
where  the  big  walnut  trees  grew  in  the 
sandy  flood-washed  soil  of  the  river  bank. 

" Here's  uh  good  place.  Less  stop," 
said  the  boy,  and  out  he  leaped,  unhooked 
the  horse,  slipped  his  bridle  and  turned 
him  loose.  We  stretched  at  length  on 
the  dry  sand  that  the  last  rise  in  the  river 
had  left  there  in  the  shade  of  the  huge 
walnut  trees,  and  I  filled  my  pipe  for  a 
smoke,  while  the  boy  folded  his  hands 
behind  his  head,  elevated  one  knee  over 
the  other  as  ho  lay  flat  on  his  back,  slowly 
chewing  a  grass  stem  and  looking  up 


JUST  A  LAZY  AFTERNOON    75 

through  the  meshed  tangle  of  leaves  at  the 
white  clouds  floating  lazily  across  the  blue 
dome. 

"Gee,  it's  uh  long  ways  up  to  them 
clouds,  ain't  it?"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to 
go  up  'n  uh  balloon  er  somp'n  'n'  look 
down  at  the  ground.  Bet  it'd  look  funny 
fr'm  way  up  there,  'n'en  uh  feller  could 
see  uh  nawful  long  ways  too.  Eeckon  he 
could  see  most  to  the  Missoury  Eiver, 
couldn't  he?" 

"Perhaps,"  I  answered.  "But  I  rather 
think  he  couldn't  see  much  even  if  he 
could  see  that  far.  It  is  about  sixty  miles 
to  the  river  in  an  air  line,  and  in  this 
atmosphere  everything  would  be  lost  in  a 
haze.  In  the  mountain  country  you  can 
see  that  far  easily,  for  you  are  up  in  the  air 
and  everything  else  is  too,  so  the  haze 
don't  bother  much." 

"Say,  gee!  I'd  like  to  go  to  th'  moun 
tains.  It  must  bo  uh  nawful  purty  place, 
'n'en,  gee!  couldn't  uh  feller  have  fun 
'ketchin'  trout  'n' shootin'  deer  'n'  things! 
But  it's  uh  nawful  long  ways,  'n'  I  don't 


76  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

reckon  I'll  over  git  there,"  he  continued, 
as  the  smile  faded  and  a  dreamy,  far-away 
look  came  into  his  bright  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  it  wouldn't  be  such 
a  long  journey  even  with  a  team  and 
wagon,"  I  answered.  "Three  or  four 
weeks  would  take  you  from  here  to  Den 
ver,  and  another  week  would  take  you 
right  into  the  hills." 

"Gee!  less  go!"  said  the  boy. 

"Well,  we  can  think  of  that  later,  and 
arrange  for  a  hunt  that  way  this  fall,  per 
haps,"  I  answered. 

"I'll  jussgoyeh." 

The  boy  was  no  longer  indifferent  and 
"feelin'  lazy,"  but  was  alert  and  talking 
like  an  old  woman's  tea  party  about  the 
mountains  and  the  great  stretch  of  sun 
burned  plains  that  met  the  sky  to  the 
westward  of  the  little  river.  The  sun 
swung  across  the  blue  dome  and  the 
shadows  reached  from  bank  to  bank  across 
the  stream  before  his  excitement  cooled 
down  enough  to  think  of  going  home. 

When   I   suggested  that   we   move,  he 


JUST  A  LAZY  AFTERNOON    77 

tilted  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  squinted 
at  the  low-hanging  sun  and  slowly  rose  to 
his  feet.  Gathering  up  the  bridle,  he 
whistled  to  the  black  pony  and  stood  wait 
ing  for  him  to  come  up.  The  pony 
understood  him,  too,  and  came  slowly 
along,  nibbling  at  a  tender  bunch  of  grass 
here  and  there,  reluctant,  but  knowing 
that  the  boy's  will  was  law,  and  soon  he 
stood  hitched  to  the  buggy  and  ready  for 
the  homeward  drive. 

Back  along  the  country  roads  we  went, 
the  pony  suiting  himself  as  to  gait,  while 
we  chatted  and  enjoyed  the  ride,  noting 
the  passing  landscape  and  the  wild  things 
that  were  the  life  of  that  perfect  evening — 
truly  one  of  those  "rare  June  days." 


FLOATING  AND  FISHING  ON 
THE  RIVER 

WHEN  I  came  home  the  boy  was  waiting 
for  me,  curled  up  in  a  jack-knife  attitude, 
his  back  against  the  fence  and  his  broad 
hat  pulled  down  to  shade  his  eyes  while  he 
industriously  whittled  a  stick  and  chewed 
one  of  the  pungent  pine  shavings. 

"Gee!  Thought  yeh  wasn't  comin'  't 
all,"  he  said,  as  he  arose  and  snapped  his 
knife  shut  against  his  trousers  leg. 

"I'm  goin'  up  river  in  th'  mornin'. 
Goin'  to  nose  'round  where  some  beaver 
bin  a-workin'  up  there.  Want  to  kinder 
figger  on  how  many  pelts  I  c'n  corral 
when  fur  gits  good  this  fall,  yeh  know. 
Want  to  go  'long?" 

"Sure,"  I  answered.  "I  feel  just  like 
taking  a  trip  anyhow." 

44 Aw  right.     Goin'  to  start  early  sost 
to  git   away  fr'm   the   sun  all  we  can. 
'Bout  daylight    I  reckon'd    be  uh    good 
time.     Be  ready  then,  will  yeh?" 
79 


80  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "I'll  meet  you  at 
the  boat  at  dawn.  Will  we  take  any  guns 
or  fishing  tackle?" 

"Dunno;  nuthin'  to  shoot,  but  we  c'n 
do  some  fishin',  I  reckon.  Oh,  say,  I 
know — gee !  course  we  can !  I  got  'bout 
fifteen  er  twenty  jug  lines  down  at  th' 
landin',  V  we'll  jug  back!" 

"All  right;  I  don't  know  anything 
about  jugging,  but  if  you  do  we'll  try  it. 
I'll  bring  lunch  for  both  of  us,  then,  and 
meet  you  in  the  morning." 

"Aw  right;  so  long!"  said  the  boy,  as 
he  started  home. 

"Say,"  he  called  back,  "be  sure  V  be 
down  t'  th'  river  by  daylight?" 

"Yes." 

When  the  gray  dawn  came  we  were 
afloat  on  the  silent  river.  The  little  canoe 
scarcely  made  a  ripple  on  the  glassy  sur 
face  as  we  slipped  along  swiftly  as  may  be, 
two  good,  stout  paddles  urging  the  little 
craft  forward  against  the  sluggish  back 
water  above  the  dam. 

Little  curls  of  vapor  seemed  to  hang  like 


FISHING  ON  THE  EIVEE       81 

smoke  against  the  water,  and  curious 
little,  oily,  wavy  places  showed  where  a 
sunken  snag  neared  the  surface.  A  home- 
hurrying  muskrat  marked  a  wrinkly  path 
across  the  current  and  dived  as  we  neared 
him. 

Blackbirds  chattered  among  the  willows 
or  flew  with  swift  beating  wings  and  trail 
ing  tail  rudders  across  the  tinted  sky. 

"Say,"  said  the  boy,  without  turning 
his  head,  "this  here's  uh  heap  th'  nicest 
part  of  uh  day,  ain't  it?  If  it'd  juss  stay 
this  way  forever  I  don't  reckon  Paradise'd 
beat  it  uh  heap,  d'you?  Look  at  them 
fool  blackbirds,  fightin'  like  uh  couple  o' 
kids  over  somp'n  'r  other!  Smell  th' 
trees,  huh?  Can't  smell  'em  on'y  on  still 
summer  mornin's,  early,  this  way,  jever 
nodiss  it?  Seems  like  when  th'  sun  comes 
up  it  sort  o'  soaks  up  th'  smell  like,  'n'en 
it's  all  gone.  I  like  th'  early  mornin' 
better 'n  any  part  o'  th'  day,  don't  you?" 

"I  agree  with  you  exactly,"  I  said,  and 
mentally  noted  that  this  young  savage  had 
a  good  deal  that  was  poetic  about  him,  in 


82  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

a  rough  way,  and  enjoyed  and  appreciated 
the  beauties — those  untellable  beauties — of 
old  Dame  Nature  in  her  varying  moods. 
It  struck  mo  that  this  likening  of  the 
tranquil  summer  morning  to  Paradise  was 
a  homely  expression  of  enjoyment  to  the 
fullest  extent,  innocent,  healthy  and  satis 
fied  enjoyment  that  lacked  any  thought  of 
animal  viciousness,  and  to  this  day  I  have 
never  found  a  more  fitting  description 
than  his. 

In  time  the  sun  came  up,  painting  the 
few  clouds  with  all  the  tints  in  Nature's 
color  box,  and  then  settled  down  to  the 
business  of  warming  the  world  and  paint 
ing  the  colors  all  out  again. 

The  canoe  never  slacked  its  even 
progress,  forging  ahead  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  until  the  mist  left  the  water 
and  a  cooling  breeze  rippled  the  quiet  sur 
face  into  tiny  wavelets. 

When  noon  came  the  boy  said  we  had 
reached  the  beaver  grounds,  and  we  went 
ashore. 

The  boy  carefully  inspected  the  cut-off 


FISHING  ON  THE  RIVER       83 

stumps  of  the  willows,  looked  long  and 
carefully  at  the  flat,  webbed  tracks  in  the 
mud,  and  hunted  "sign"  for  an  hour, 
while  I  sat  in  the  shade  and  smoked,  wait 
ing  until  he  should  return. 

"I  reckon  they's  about  nine  or  ten 
beaver  here  that's  good  fer  fur  this  fall," 
he  said,  as  he  sprawled  beside  me  on  the 
grass. 

"They's  uh  pair  o'  old  ones  'n'  two  er 
three  litters  o'  kittens  o'  different  sizes,  I 
figger.  I'm  goin'  to  have  them  pelts 
when  frost  comes,  too,  you  bet. 

"Gee!  Less  eat.  I'm  hungrier 'n  uh 
bear.  Funny  how  uh  feller  gits  so 
onreasonable  hungry  knockin'  'round  this 
way,  ain't  it?"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  as 
we  opened  the  lunch. 

"I  got  th'  jugs  'n'  uh  few  frogs  down 
there  'n  th'  canoe,  'n'  I  reckon  we  c'n 
float  down  with  th'  current  'n'  let  th'  jugs 
do  th'  fishin'  'safternoon,  'n'  have  some 
fun  too.  Got  to  ketch  s'more  hoptoads, 
though,  first,"  he  added,  as  he  stowed 
away  the  remnant  of'  a  sandwich  and  went 


84  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

for  the  little  tin  bucket  to  get  water  from 
the  spring  near  by. 

"Say,  that's  th'  best  drink  't  ever  was 
invented,  ain't  it?"  he  remarked,  as  he 
came  back  with  the  bucket  brimful  of  cold 
and  good  water  from  the  spring  that 
welled  up  among  the  rocks  of  "Stony 
Point." 

"Seems  like  white  folks  want  to  kill 
'erselves  drinkin'  all  kinds  o'  whisky  'n' 
beer  'n'  stuff  like  that  when  they's 
s 'much  good  water  juss  runnin'  to  waste. 
I  can't  juss  figger  such  things  out  my 
self." 

We  loafed  about  in  the  shade  talking 
and  resting  for  an  hour,  while  the  young 
philosopher  tried  to  "figger  out"  the 
problem  of  humanity  just  as  philosophers 
have  thought  and  wondered  and  "fig- 
gered"  since  time  began,  and  like  them 
the  boy  finally  "give  it  up,"  and  turned 
to  the  immediate  business  of  catching 
frogs  for  fish  bait. 

I  stretched  at  length  along  the  grass, 
lazily  watching  the  swallows  flit  in  and  out 


FISHING  ON  THE  RIVER       85 

of  the  burrows  in  the  bluffs  across  the 
river,  wondering  why  these  little  creatures 
had  been  so  constructed  that  they  could 
annihilate  distance  so  easily,  while  man 
must  plod  slowly  along  up  hill  and  down 
over  the  surface  of  this  old  world. 

The  soft  lullaby  of  the  wind-tuned  trees 
lulled  one  to  the  quietude  of  mind  neces 
sary  for  building  air  castles,  and  soon  I 
was  dreaming  there  by  the  quiet  river.  I 
saw  without  seeing.  I  was  there,  and  yet 
knew  nothing  of  the  surroundings — just 
thinking. 

A  big  black  ant  crawfished  across  a  bit 
of  sand,  exerting  every  energy  to  drag  a 
dead  grasshopper  to  his  storehouse.  A 
black  wasp  nervously  opened  and  closed  its 
steely  wings,  and  after  inspecting  its  sur 
roundings  vanished. 

The  midday  sun  necked  the  ground 
with  a  network  of  ever-moving  shadows, 
weaving  in  and  out,  blending  with  the 
flowers  and  grasses  of  the  bank. 

"Say,  yeh  goin'  to  snooze  all  day?  Git 
uh  hike  on  yeh  'n*  c'mon.  Got  to  move 


86  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

if  we  ketch  any  catties  'safternoon.  I  got 
lots  o'  bait,  so  less  go." 

The  boy  had  broken  the  spell,  and  soon 
we  were  drifting  lazily,  contentedly  along 
behind  a  row  of  corked-up  beer  bottles 
and  small  jugs  that  floated  in  ' 'company 
front"  with  the  current  of  the  prairie  river. 

Birds  flitted  in  and  out  among  the  trees ; 
an  occasional  squirrel  could  be  seen 
stretched  at  length  along  a  gnarled  oak 
limb,  just  soaking  himself  full  of  sunshine 
— or  perhaps  he  would  be  nosing  about 
among  the  fallen  leaves  on  the  ground,  his 
tail  curled  up  over  his  back  and  waving 
like  a  great  brown  plume. 

Turtles  basked  on  the  dead  snags  and 
plunked  off  into  the  water  as  we  floated 
by.  Everything  was  living  and  enjoying 
life  in  its  own  peculiar  way,  and  over  all 
was  the  brilliant  blue  of  the  prairie  sky, 
the  flood  of  light  from  the  summer  sun, 
and  just  enough  warmth  to  make  us  too 
lazy  to  even  talk  as  we  drifted  on  the  slow 
current,  following  the  line  of  jugs  and 
bottles  down  the  western  river. 


FISHING  ON  THE  RIVER       87 

Suddenly  the  boy  gathered  himself 
together,  dipped  deep  with  his  paddle, 
and  the  canoe  began  to  move  swiftly 
toward  one  of  the  jugs  that  was  bobbing, 
spinning  and  plowing  through  the  water  in 
circles,  as  a  heavy  fish  tried  vainly  to  rid 
himself  of  the  hook. 

"Say,  gee!  that's  uh  Balaam,  sure!" 
said  the  boy  quietly,  as  we  watched  the 
antics  of  the  bobbing  jug. 

As  we  neared  it  the  jug  sank,  and  a  few 
moments  later  reappeared  forty  feet  away, 
swirling  through  the  water  as  the  fish 
towed  it  along. 

"You  work  her,  V  I'll  git  that 
Balaam,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  laid  his 
paddle  inboard  and  got  ready  for  action 
when  we  should  get  within  reach  of  the 


I  handled  the  canoe,  and  in  a  few 
moments  got  alongside,  where  the  boy  got 
hold  of  the  line  and  began  to  fight  the  fish 
on  his  own  ground. 

Several  times  the  broad  tail  curved  up 
and  threw  a  shower  of  water  over  the  boy, 


JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

and  several  times  the  boy  caught  his 
breath  and  said,  "Ugh!"  but  he  hung  on, 
and  in  the  end  pulled  the  big  blue-black 
catfish  over  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe. 

"Good  un,  ain't  he?"  said  the  boy, 
contentedly,  as  he  slipped  a  string  through 
the  fish's  gills  and  hung  him  overboard. 

Soon  the  jug  was  rebaited  and  drifting 
along  with  its  fellows,  and  behind  the 
line  was  the  black  canoe  with  its  counter 
feit  reflected  upside  down  in  the  quiet 
stream,  drifting,  drifting  with  the  slow 
current,  while  the  boy  and  I  reclined  along 
the  bottom  and  up  against  the  "lazy- 
back"  seat,  waiting  and  drifting  there  in 
the  quiet  of  the  summer  afternoon. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  CAMP 

THREE  days  had  passed  since  the  boats 
had  crawled  up  against  the  current  of  the 
little  western  river  until  they  grounded 
against  the  hot  edge  of  a  great  sandbar. 

Just  here  the  river  swept  around  in  a 
broad  curve,  washing  and  cutting  away 
the  bluff  on  one  side  and  forming  the  bar 
on  the  other  as  the  aggressive  current 
advanced. 

A  fine  open  growth  of  timber  back  of 
the  bar  made  a  good  camp  ground,  and  a 
clear  spring  boiled  up  through  the  gravel 
to  supply  the  best  of  water. 

The  white  canvas,  more  or  less  stained 
by  camp  usage,  had  gleamed  among  the 
trees  these  three  days,  and  furnished  a 
home  for  the  boy  and  me  when  we  came 
in  from  our  rambles  through  the  enchanted 
woods  or  floated  back  in  the  black  canoe 
with  the  water  that  forever  passed  by, 
steadily,  resistlessly  moving  on,  on,  on. 
89 


90  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

Where  it  came  from,  where  it  went, 
were  two  things  to  which  we  gave  no 
thought.  It  was  always  there,  and  it  was 
the  home  of  the  fish,  the  ducks  and  the 
many  other  things  that  made  life  a  day  of 
joy  for  us. 

Strange  things  came  down  on  the  ever- 
moving  current;  some  went  by,  some 
stranded  on  our  sandbar  and  furnished  a 
moment  of  wonderment  and  vague  con 
jecture  as  we  saw  them — and  left  them 
there. 

There  were  fragments  of  stone  on  the 
bar,  too,  rocks  that  were  strangers  in  the 
prairie  country,  and  a  constant  source  of 
wonder  to  the  boy,  who  continually 
brought  them  into  the  tent  to  ask  their 
history.  Sometimes  I  had  to  wonder  with 
him,  and  could  give  no  information, 
because  the  rock  was  a  stranger  to  me,  too, 
— a  stray  pebble  that  had  started — where? 

At  times  the  youngster  would  toss  a  bit 
of  water-smoothed  stone  down  beside  me, 
drop  to  the  ground  himself  and  stretch  on 
his  stomach,  hia  chin  resting  on  his 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  CAMP  91 

crossed  arms,  and  broad  hat  tilted  back 
while  he  waited  and  listened  to  the  prob 
able  history  of  the  fire-born,  ice-milled, 
water-moved  bit  of  rock  that  had  traveled 
hundreds  of  miles  and  stranded  on  "agate 
bar"  for  the  boy  to  find. 

This  rock  lore  was  full  of  mountain 
voices,  tales  of  the  great,  lonely  country 
that  basked  in  the  sun  to  the  westward ; 
stories  of  the  ruins  of  that  part  of  the 
world  called  "bad  lands";  of  crystal 
streams  that  hid  flakes  of  gold  in  their 
sands  and  trout  in  their  waters ;  of  pine 
woods  where  wild  animals  roamed ;  and  of 
other  talk  of  the  wilderness. 

It  was  just  the  beginning  of  Indian 
summer  when  we  camped  by  the  sandbar, 
that  delightful  time  in  the  year  when  one 
may  dream  all  day  and  every  day ;  and  it 
had  its  effect  on  the  boy. 

He  was  preoccupied,  thinking,  dream 
ing,  looking  into  the  haze  that  dimmed 
the  western  horizon. 

"Say,  less  take  uh  trip  to  the  moun 
tains,  will  yeh?" 


92  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

He  had  decided  on  a  plan  of  action, 
and  wanted  my  indorsement  and  company. 

I  smiled,  lighted  my  pipe,  and  sat  down 
for  a  talk.  I  had  already  seen  the  back 
bone  of  the  continent  and  the  withering, 
soul-killing  country  where  the  gray  sage 
grows,  where  the  loafer  wolves  howl  like 
lost  souls,  where  the  ghoulish  buzzard 
floats  in  the  clear  air,  where  death  lurks  in 
the  water  and  the  blistered,  alkali-strewn 
ground. 

All  afternoon  I  sat  there  and  told  the 
boy  of  this  lost  country  and  of  the  great 
hills  that  pierced  the  sky  to  the  west  of  it, 
while  he  listened  and  dreamed. 

"Less  go,  will  yeh?"  he  said,  when  I 
had  finished. 

4 'Less  git  th'  outfit  together  'n'  light 
out  this  fall.  I'm  tired  o'  this  old  level 
country  where  they  ain't  nothin'  on'y  th' 
river  'n'  th'  woods,  'n'  juss  catfish.  I 
want  to  git  up  amongst  th'  rocks  'n'  snow 
'n'  pine  woods — 'n'  I'm  goin',  too." 

"Well,  if  you're  set  on  going,  we  had 
better  wait  till  spring,  so  the  grass  will 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  CAMP  93 

furnish  feed  for  the  horses,  anyhow.  You 
can't  travel  far  out  there  in  the  fall  when 
the  grass  is  dead  and  the  water  holes  all 
dried  up.  Then  again,  you  would  no 
more  than  get  to  the  hills  before  you  would 
have  to  hurry  back  to  get  home  ahead  of 
the  snow." 

"Guess  yer  right,"  he  answered,  with  a 
sigh.  "Haff  to  wait,  I  reckon.  Will  yeh 
go  in  th'  spring,  shore?" 

"  Unless  something  turns  up  this  winter 
to  prevent  it,  I  will  go  in  the  spring  and 
stay  all  summer  if  you  like.  We  can  take 
along  a  prospecting  outfit  and  maybe 
locate  some  color  worth  working,  too; 
there  is  plenty  of  it  in  the  hills,  if  you 
can  find  it,  and  it  will  give  us  an  excuse 
for  going,  anyhow." 

So  it  was  settled  there  by  the  little  west 
ern  river,  settled  and  all  winter  left  for 
anticipation,  which  I  have  begun  to  think 
is  more  real  pleasure  than  the  trip, 
whether  it  be  around  the  world  or  only  an 
afternoon  off  for  fishing. 

The  boy  could  always   find  some  new 


94  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

interest  hovering  over  the  country  we  were 
to  visit,  and  the  questions  lie  asked  were 
as  many  and  varied  as  the  cottonwood 
leaves  that  sang  in  the  breeze  over  our 
heads. 

First  it  was  to  be  a  wagon  and  team, 
then  this  would  be  abandoned  as  the 
superior  advantages  of  a  pack-horse  outfit 
were  discussed;  then  the  limited  capacity 
of  such  an  outfit  would  throw  his  opinion 
back  to  the  wagon  idea  again. 

So  the  discussion  went,  back  and  forth 
and  back  again,  until  I  said:  " Let's  go 
fishing  and  let  the  trip  rest  while  we  are 
in  camp.  We've  got  all  winter  to  think  it 
over,  and  when  the  time  comes  we'll  be 
ready  all  right,  and  with  the  right  kind  of 
an  outfit,  too." 

"Yep,  reckon  we  sure  will,"  he 
answered,  as  he  gathered  up  the  rods  and 
canoe  paddles  and  got  ready  for  a  short 
hour  of  enjoyment  before  night  should  put 
out  the  light  of  the  sun. 

"They  must  be  some  mighty  nice  places 
out  there  'n  th'  mountains,"  said  the  boy, 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  CAMP  95 

as  we  drifted  and  cast  our  minnows  toward 
the  rocks  along  the  bank  where  we  knew 
the  big  pike-perch  balanced  and  waited. 

"I've  always  wanted  to  see  th'  moun 
tains  ever  since  I  first  heard  about  'em, 
'n'  I  got  a  idee  I  could  juss  live  'round 
'mongst  them  rocks  'n'  trees  'n'  things 
all  th'  ress  o'  my  life  'thout  botherin'  uh 
heap  'bout  anything  much. 

"Gee!  they  muss  be  high.  Less  see — 
12,000  feet — how  much  is  uh  mile?  Five 
thousand  two  hunnerd  'n'  eighty — that's 
right — into  12,000— that's  twice  and  'bout 
uh  quarter  over,  ain't  it?  Gee!  Juss 
think !  Two  mile  'n'  uh  quarter  straight 
up  'n  th'  air!  Whew!  Say,  that's  as 
far's  fr'm  town  clean  to  th'  stone  quarries 
down  th'  river.  I  bet  them  red  clouds 
ain't  that  high  right  now.  Must  make 
uh  feller  feel  kinder  queer  like  to  git  up 
that  high  'n'  look  down,  don't  it?" 

"Well,  it  would  perhaps  if  you  could 
look  straight  down,  but  you  must  remem 
ber  that  the  hills  begin  to  rise  a  long  way 
from  the  peaks,  and  the  country  up  there 


96  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

isn't  so  much  different  from  any  other 
rough  country  until  you  get  to  the  pin 
nacles.  Then  it  is  mostly  rocks  piled  up 
into  needles  and  gashed  and  split  into 
canyons  that  make  it  pretty  hard  to  get 
through;  the  rest  of  it  is  only  one  hill 
piled  on  top  of  another  for  miles." 

"Huh!  Pictures  o'  mountains  don't 
look  that  way.  They  look  like  they  run 
right  up  from  uh  flat  country  like  this — 
that  is,  gene'lly  they  do." 

"Well,"  I  replied,  "when  you  are 
twenty  or  twenty-five  miles  away  the  hills 
look  that  way  too ;  but  they  are  different 
when  you  get  there." 

"Kin  you  ride — gee!    I  got  uh  whale,  I 


A  big  "spickerl"  had  coupled  on  to  the 
boy's  hook  and  cut  further  discussion 
about  the  mountains  short  for  the  evening, 
for  the  sun  was  gone  and  there  was  only  a 
red  glow  in  the  western  sky  when  the  big 
fish  came  in  over  the  side  and  quivered  in 
his  last  gasp  on  the  bottom  of  the  canoe. 

"Less  have  him  fer  supper,  will  yeh?" 


WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  CAMP  97 

asked  the  youngster  as  he  surveyed  the 
catch. 

"All  right,  I'm  fish  hungry  myself,  and 
he  will  make  a  good  supper  for  both,"  I 
answered. 

"Yep,  less  go  to  camp  'n'  git  him 
a-sizzlin'." 

Eods  were  tucked  away  in  the  canoe  and 
the  whispering  paddles  crooned  a  lullaby 
as  the  black  canoe  cut  the  surface  of  the 
river,  wrinkling  the  red  and  gold  reflec 
tions  of  the  sunset  into  a  thousand  scin 
tillating  prisms  of  color  that  flickered  from 
the  brown  sands  of  Agate  Bar  to  the  blue 
shadows  reaching  out  from  the  foot  of  the 
bluff  across  the  stream. 

As  the  glow  faded  from  the  sky  and  the 
blue -black  shades  of  night  came  on,  our 
little  fire  burned  merrily  and  grew  hot  and 
red  against  the  night,  half  illuminating 
the  white  tent  and  penciling  the  overhang 
ing  cottonwood  limbs  in  lines  of  light. 

The  big  pike  sputtered  and  grew  brown, 
the  coffee  complained  and  bubbled  against 
the  hot  sides  of  the  pot,  and  other  things 


98  JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

gave  odors  to  whet  the  ontdoor  man's 
appetite,  until  we  sat  down  to  a  hungry, 
healthy  man's  fare  there  by  the  silent 
river,  at  the  end  of  another  day  that  we 
had  lived — one  day  in  a  life  that  has 
passed  to  the  shades  of  recollection  now, 
for  that  was  long  ago,  and  in  a  country 
that  has  now  become  only  a  part  of  the 
traditions  of  what  was  once  the  great, 
limitless  West. 


A  DOWN-STREAM  JOURNEY 

THE  old  black  canoes  had  served  their 
time  and  were  not  worth  keeping  over 
winter. 

Then*  canvas  sides  had  fallen  into  that 
" touchy"  condition  which  ends  the  use 
fulness  of  canvas  as  a  boat  material,  and 
the  tough  elm  ribs  had  become  water- 
soaked  and  lame  from  hard  usage. 

The  boy  and  I  drydocked  these  two 
little  cruisers,  overhauled  them  from  stem 
to  stern,  added  a  few  touches  of  paint,  a 
brace  here  and  there,  and  then  concluded 
they  would  last  until  the  "glass"  ice 
should  form  on  the  river. 

"Say,  I'll  tell  yeh  what  less  do,"  said 
the  youngster,  "less  git  our  outfit  'n'  float 
down  th'  river  far  as  we  can  'fore  it 
freezes ;  'n'en  let  th'  canoes  go  'n'  come 
back  on  th'  train,  will  yeh?" 

I  smoked  over  this  idea  a  little  while, 
99 


100         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

and  thought  about  the  ducks,  snipe, 
squirrels  and  fish  that  lived  along  the  little 
river. 

Then  there  were  the  glorious  mornings, 
the  hazy  days  of  Indian  summer,  when 
one  wants  to  do  nothing  but  float,  float, 
float  all  day  long — float  until  the  painted 
sky  blazes  across  the  west  and  it  is  time 
for  a  blue  wisp  of  smoke  to  twist  upward 
through  the  red  and  yellow  leaves. 

A-a-a-nah!  my  tillicums,  those  are  days 
of  joy,  and  I  saw  many  such  days  as  I 
mentally  reviewed  the  winding  length  of 
river  that  twisted  among  the  hills  to  the 
southeast  until  it  came  to  the  yellow  flood  of 
the  old  Missouri,  two  hundred  miles  away. 

"Yes,  I  will  float  on  the  river  with  you 
until  the  ice  stops  us  or  until  there  is  no 
more  river  to  float  on,"  I  answered. 

It  did  not  take  more  than  a  couple  of 
days  to  prepare  for  the  voyage,  and  it  was 
with  a  satisfied  feeling  of  enjoyment  that 
we  pushed  out  into  the  current  that 
hurries  away  from  the  dam  where  the  boy 
caught  his  "spickerl." 


A  DOWN-STREAM  JOURNEY  101 

"We'd  ought  to  make  twenty  er  twenty- 
five  mile  'fore  sundown,  hadn't  we?"  asked 
the  boy. 

"See  here,  son,  you  must  want  to  cut 
this  voyage  short,  or  else  go  clear  to  the 
Gulf.  Why  not  take  it  easy?  We've  only 
got  a  matter  of  two  hundred  miles  to  go  to 
get  to  the  Missouri,  and  that  old  river  is 
good  for  nothing  but  sturgeon  and  shovel- 
nosed  catfish,  which  we  as  sportsmen  and 
voyagers  on  discovery  bent  want  nothing 
to  do  with." 

The  boy  smiled  a  queer  little  smile,  and 
said :  '  *  Huh !  guess  yer  right . ' ' 

We  put  a  little  bit  of  good,  outdoor 
muscle  on  the  paddles  as  we  shot  through 
the  shallow  riffles  below  the  dam,  and  left 
a  rippling  wake  through  the  "still  hole" 
that  ran  past  the  big  walnut  trees  and 
ended  at  the  island  where  I  first  met  the 
boy. 

"That's  where  I  snagged  that  old 
Balaam  first  time  I  tried  yer  rod.  Gee !  I 
had  uh  picnic  that  day!  Wonder  I  didn't 
bu'st  yer  tip,  wasn't  it?"  the  boy  said,  as 


102          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

we  slid  down  tho  boiling  riffle  and  passed 
the  bridge  pier  in  midstream. 

We  were  still  in  town  and  had  two  more 
bridges  to  pass  before  we  should  run  out 
of  the  settlements,  and  we  were  anxious  to 
get  into  the  wilds. 

"Pisht!  pisht!"  said  the  double  blades, 
as  we  glided  on  down  the  shadow  -flecked 
current,  and  the  gurgle  under  the  bow 
sang  the  travel  song  that  is  dear  to  every 
canoeist. 

The  bridges  were  a  mile  behind  when  we 
shot  around  a  sharp  curve  at  the  foot  of  a 
riffle,  and  brought  consternation  to  a  troop 
of  girls  who,  clad  in  old,  discarded  dresses, 
were  splashing  about  in  the  shallow  stream, 
trying  to  make  themselves  believe  they 
were  swimming. 

Immediately  there  was  a  skurrying  into 
the  bushes,  as  these  soaked  mermaids 
went  up  the  bank  helter-skelter,  frightened 
out  of  a  year's  growth  by  the  appearance 
of  these  two  silent  black  shapes  on  the 
swift  current. 

We  caught  a  fleeting  glance  of  a  bit  of 


A   DOWN-STREAM  JOURNEY  103 

4 'local  color"  too,  as  one  of  the  girls  went 
into  the  bushes  like  a  scared  rabbit. 

Her  bathing  costume  was  a  suit  of 
bright  red  underwear.  No  wonder  she 
ran! 

After  the  excitement  died  out,  and  the 
titters  and  little  screams  had  lost  them 
selves  astern,  the  boy  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder  and  grinned  as  only  a  homely  boy 
can. 

"Funny,  wasn't  it,  huh?"  he  asked. 

As  we  turned  the  bend  a  mile  below  we 
noted  that  same  scarlet  note  of  color  just 
at  the  river  edge,  and  the  boy  grinned 
again. 

Riffles  and  long  reaches  of  still  water 
slid  under  the  keels  as  we  journeyed  on, 
until  a  bunch  of  cedar  trees  loomed  blue 
through  the  other  timber. 

"Did  I  ever  tell  yeh  how  Deacon  Lowe 
got  scart  out  o'  camp  down  here  at  th' 
cedars?"  asked  the  boy. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  I  replied. 

The  boy  laughed  in  his  throaty, 
chuckling  way,  and  began  the  yarn. 


104         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"I  was  campin'  down  here  'lone  one 
summer,  V  Deacon  he  wanted  to  come 
'long.  I  says,  'Aw  right,'  'n'  so  Deacon 
come  down  with  me  one  day  when  I  went 
to  town  fer  supplies. 

"We  was  here  two  er  three  days,  'n'  one 
night  'bout  sundown  Deacon  heard  uh 
Bob  White  whistlin'  up  on  th'  bluff  above 
camp,  where  they's  uh  grove  o'  little  jack 
oaks. 

"  'Go  'n'  git  him,  Deacon,'  I  says,  'n' 
Deacon  took  my  ole  Sary  'n'  went. 

"Purty  soon,  'boom!'  she  went,  'way 
off  'mong  th'  trees,  'n'  I  figgered 
Deacon'd  sure  got  that  quail. 

44  After  a  while  he  comes  into  camp  with 
th'  quail,  'n'  looking  kind  o'  funny  'n' 
pale. 

"  'What's  up,  Deacon?'  I  says,  'n'  he 
says:  'They's  uh  graveyard  up  there  right 
above  camp,  on  th'  bluff,  d'yeh  know 
that?' 

"  I  laffed  'n'  says:  'Yes,  what  o'  that?' 

"Deacon  says:  *Yeh  goin'  to  stay  here 
when  yeh  know  that?' 


A  DOWN-STREAM  JOURNEY  105 

"  'Sure,'  I  says;  'graveyards  can't  hurt 
yeli  none,  'n'  'sides  that,  ain't  I  been  here 
for  two  er  three  weeks,  'n'  no  ghost  ain't 
come  into  camp  yet?' 

"That  kinder  stuck  Deacon,  'n'  he 
didn't  say  nothin'  more  'bout  it  while  we 
eat  supper,  but  he  kep'  lookin'  toowords 
that  graveyard  kind  o'  uneasy  when  it 
begin  to  git  dark. 

"Fin'ly  he  says:  'I'm  sick.' 

"'What's  th'  matter?'  I  says,  'n'  he 
couldn't  tell,  on'y  'at  he  was  sick. 

"  'Well,'  I  says,  'you  stay  'n  camp  here 
'n'  I'll  go  'n'  'tend  to  the  boats,  'n'en  if 
yeh  feel  worse  I'll  git  uh  horse  'n'  buggy 
'n'  take  yeh  to  town.' 

"So  I  went  down  to  where  th'  boat  was 
tied,  'n'  by  gee!  there  was  'bout  uh  dozen 
folks  come  down  with  uh  horse  'n'  wagon 
to  fish  all  night. 

"I  told  'em  I  had  uh  sick  pardner,  'n' 
one  feller  says:  'Where  is  he?  I'm  uh 
doctor,'  he  says,  '  'n'  my  medsun  case  is 
in  th'  wagon.' 

"So  he  got  his  medsun,  'n'en  we  went 


106     ,     JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

up  to  camp,  'n'  gee!  they  wasn't  no 
Deacon  there! 

"I  thought  that  was  funny,  'n'  I  com 
menced  to  git  scart,  cos  I  thought  mebby 
Deacon'd  got  out  o'  his  head  'n'  went 
a-trailin'  int'  th'  woods  right  at  night. 

"  'N'en  I  happened  to  think  'bout  that 
graveyard,  'n'  I  says :  'Wait  uh  minnit ;'  'n' 
I  run  up  on  t'  th'  railroad  'n'  looked 
toowords  town,  'n'  there  was  Deacon 
hittin'  th'  trail  like  he  was  in  a  nawful 
hurry. 

"  'N'en  I  kindo'  saviedlike  'n'knowed 
th'  Deacon  was  juss  scart  'bout  th'  grave 
yard  tull  he  thought  he  was  sick,  'n'  so  I 
told  th'  doctor  'bout  th'  graveyard,  'n'  he 
laffed  'n'  said:  'Prob'ly  that  was  all  't 
ailded  Deacon. ' 

"  4N'  sure  'nuff,  it  was,  too,  'cause 
Deacon  wouldn't  come  back  to  camp  with 
me  when  I  went  to  town  next  day.  'Huh, 
uh,'  he  says;  'no  graveyard  camps  'n 
mine,'  he  says;  'n'en  I  told  th'  ress  o'  th' 
fellers  'n  town  'bout  it,  'n'  Deacon  gits  it 
'bout  bein'  ghost  sick  yet  sometimes. 


A   DOWN-STREAM  JOURNEY  107 

"Say,"  with  a  squint  at  the  low-hang 
ing  sun,  "less  camp  there  to-night;  they's 
a  good  place,  'n'  lots  o'  fish  V  th'  bess 
spring  in  th'  country  'bout  uh  hunderd 
yards  fr'm  camp.  What  d'yeh  say?" 

"All  right." 

And  strange  to  say,  no  ghosts  molested 
us,  though  we  could  have  tossed  a  stone 
into  the  burial  ground  with  its  old  graves, 
long  since  fallen  in  and  choked  with  dank 
weeds  that  hid  the  little  weather-beaten 
crosses  placed  to  mark  a  loved  one's  last 
camp,  long  ago. 

There  was  a  melancholy  air  over  that 
little  spot  of  sacred  ground  there  on  the 
slope  of  hillside  where  the  jack  oaks  grew, 
and  I  wondered  what  scenes  of  sorrow  had 
been  ended  there  in  days  that  were  older 
than  I,  as  I  read  the  weather-worn  chisel 
marks  that  told  of  youth  and  old  age  at 
rest  under  the  few  modest  slabs  of  plain 
marble  that  gleamed  white  among  the 
crosses. 

"Purty  place  up  here,  ain't  it?"  said 
the  boy,  looking  across  the  landscape,  as 


108         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

we  wound  our  way  down  the  bluff  and  into 
camp,  and  left  the  cedars  to  sigh  over  the 
deserted,  unnoticed  graves. 


A  RACE  WITH  A  PRAIRIE 
FIRE 

THE  second  morning  of  our  river  trip 
found  a  lazy  pair  of  voyagers,  I  am  afraid, 
for  the  sun  was  up  and  sending  long,  level 
beams  of  light  in  among  the  restless 
maple  leaves  overhead  before  we  opened 
our  eyes  and  looked  out  of  the  tent. 

A  great  maple  had  been  bent  down  by 
the  ice  or  snow  when  it  was  a  sapling,  and 
had  grown  into  a  great  hump-backed  tree 
that  described  half  a  circle  in  front  of 
camp. 

Two  squirrels  were  playing  on  this  freak 
of  timber  that  bright  morning,  racing  up 
and  down,  bounding  from  limb  to  limb, 
chasing  each  other  round  and  round  the 
trunk  with  a  reckless  disregard  for  the  laws 
of  gravitation  and  the  safety  of  their  own 
necks,  such  as  squirrels  only  are  capable 
of  exhibiting. 

I  watched  them  with  keen  interest  as 
they  went  through  their  antics,  and  I  must 
109 


110          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

say  that  I  saw  more  of  the  animal  instinct 
for  fun  that  morning  than  I  ever  saw 
before. 

4 'Hain't  they  cute  little  fellers?"  whis 
pered  the  boy,  who  had  also  been  aroused 
by  the  clatter  of  the  squirrels,  and  was 
peering  over  my  shoulder. 

4 'Seems  like  it's  wicked  to  shoot  such 
things,  don't  it?"  he  continued.  "Gee! 
I  thought  that  'n'  'd  sure  fall  that  time! 
Funny  how  they  c'n  ketch  onto  uh  little 
twig  'ith  one  foot  that  way  'n'  not  fall 
clean  down  t'  th'  ground,  ain't  it?" 

Something  frightened  our  performers, 
and  with  a  final  skurry  and  wave  of 
plumes  they  vanished  into  the  upper  limbs 
of  a  near-by  cottonwood,  and  the  woods 
resumed  their  wonted  quiet,  with  only  the 
bird  voices  to  mingle  with  the  rustling 
whisper  of  the  leaves. 

"Less  git  up  an'  git  uh  hike  on  us," 
said  the  youthful  savage  by  my  side,  as  he 
kicked  the  blankets  flying  and  came  to 
his  feet  with  a  bound — the  spontaneous 
elasticity  of  youth  coupled  with  a  perfect 


RACE  WITH  A  PRAIRIE  FIRE    111 

condition  of  mental  and  bodily  health — • 
you  know  that  is  as  much  a  part  of  a 
growing  boy  as  his  hands  or  his  freckles. 

"Why  should  one  grow  old?"  I  mused. 
1  'Why  not  always  remain  as  healthy, 
happy,  vigorous  and  youthful  as  that 
boy?"  Yet  I  knew  that  the  time  would 
come  when  that  supple  frame,  now  so 
buoyant,  would  be  stiff  and  bent,  and  then 
this  day  that  we  were  living  would  be  only 
the  ghost  of  a  mind,  something  to  dream 
about  in  the  warm  sun,  and  that  the  old 
man  with  the  bent  body  and  weak  eyes 
would  look  back — look  at  himself  as  he 
appeared  to  me  to-day — and  perhaps  sigh 
and  wish  the  old  days  back  again. 

"Say,  what's  the  matter  'ith  you  'a 
mornin'?  Gettin'  lazy  er  homesick 
a'ready?"  asked  the  boy,  with  a  merry 
laugh,  as  he  saw  me  still  reclining  on  the 
blankets  and  looking  intently  into  a  spot 
of  sunshine  on  the  ground. 

He  was  busy  with  a  fish  just  out  of 
water,  while  I  dressed  and  began  packing 
the  blankets  out  to  a  sunny  place. 


JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 


"Say,  here,  you  watch  this  fish  'n'  these 
taters,  sost  they  won't  burn.  I'm  goin' 
t'  th'  spring  'n'  get  some  water  fer  coffee. 
Don't  yeh  burn  that  fish  'n'  spoil  it  now, 
tinkerin'  round  a-lookin'  't  squirrels  'n' 
things  —  won't  git  no  breakfust  if  yeh  do!" 
And  away  he  went,  swinging  the  black 
coffeepot  and  whistling  merrily. 

When  he  came  back  his  face  wore  a  look 
of  seriousness  and  apprehension. 

"Say!  smell  th'  grass  smoke  in  th'  air? 
I  b'leeve  they's  uh  big  fire  somers  downth' 
river.  Been  purty  dry,  'n'  grass  's  mostly 
dead  now,  sost  it'd  burn  gickaloodin  if  it 
got  started. 

"Wind's  'n  th'  south,  'n'  comin'  up 
'ith  th'  sun,  'n'  I  bet  sompin's  a-burnin' 
down  ahead  of  us." 

"Well,  what  if  it  is?  We  are  on  the 
river,  and  the  fire  couldn't  do  us  any 
harm  even  if  there  is  one,"  I  answered. 

"Dunno  'bout  that,"  he  replied.  "I 
seen  fires  round  here  'at  'ud  jump  clean 
crost  th'  river. 

"Give  'em  uh  good  haff  uh  gale  o'  wind, 


RACE  WITH  A  PRAIRIE  FIRE    113 

'n'  tli'  river  don't  'mount  t'  much 
toowords  stoppin'  'em. 

"  'N'  it  gits  s'  hot  'at  yeh  can't  stay 
nowheres,  'n'  smoke's  s'  thick  yeh  can't 
breathe  hardly. 

"I  seen  s'  many  o'  these  big  fires  'at  I 
don' t  like  'em,  'n'  they  allus  make  me 
nervous  some." 

"Oh,  I  guess  we're  all  safe  enough,  even 
if  a  big  one  comes  along,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  now,  I  tell  yeh,"  said  the 
youngster,  with  a  sniff  in  the  air.  "It's 
on'y  'bout  three  mile  fr'm  here  t'  Iron 
Mountain,  'n'  that's  a  mighty  good  place  to 
git  away  fr'm  fire,  if  one  comes  'long.  Less 
pack  up  'n'  go  down  there,  'n'en  climb  up 
'n'  look  round  'ith  th'  glass. 

"If  they's  uh  fire  'ithin  twenty  er  thirty 
mile  o'  here  we  c'n  see  it  fr'm  th'  ole 
mountain  all  right. 

"They's  uh  lot  of  limestone  gulches 
down  there  where  little  creeks  come 
tumblin'  int'  th'  river,  'n'  I  reckon  uh 
feller  c'd  git  away  fr'm  fire  there  if  he 
could  anywhere." 


114          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"Very  well,"  I  answered,  "we  can  stop 
there  as  well  as  not,  and  see  how  things 
look,  anyway." 

"Less  move,  then,  'cause  you  nodiss  this 
smoke's  gittin'  thicker  every  minit.  I 
don't  like  it  uh  heap,  I  tell  you  that." 

The  boy  had  lived  in  this  country  all  his 
life,  and  I  thought  he  might  know  more 
about  prairie  fires  than  I  did,  and  besides 
the  smoke  was  thickening  rapidly,  and  the 
wind  was  rising,  so  that  the  whole  situa 
tion  did  not  look  encouraging,  to  say  the 
least. 

We  hurriedly  stowed  our  camp  outfit 
into  the  canoes,  ate  breakfast,  and  started 
down  the  river  right  toward  the  fire,  and 
put  our  muscle  on  the  paddles  with  such 
good  effect  that  we  were  soon  at  the  foot 
of  the  "mountain." 

Here  we  ran  ashore  and  climbed  up  the 
three  or  four  hundred  feet  of  nearly  per 
pendicular  bluff  to  the  top. 

We  did  not  need  the  glass,  for  all  too 
clearly  we  could  see  the  red  line  of  flame 
leaping  in  the  air  to  the  south  of  us. 


RACE  WITH  A  PRAIRIE  FIRE    115 

The  smoke  seemed  to  be  going  away 
above  our  heads,  and  what  we  had  to  con 
tend  with  seemed  more  to  be  that  drawn 
back  toward  the  fire  by  the  eddy  in  the 
wind  current,  which  now  had  apparently 
changed  and  was  blowing  toward  the  fire. 

Five  minutes'  watching  convinced  us 
that  we  had  no  time  to  lose  in  hunting 
shelter. 

"Say,  now,  we'd  better  git  to  th' 
gulches  on  th'  north  side  o'  th'  moun 
tain,  'cause  th'  fire  won't  burn  haff  as 
strong  down  th'  hill  as  it  will  comin'  up 
on  th'  south  side,  'n'  'sides  that,  they 
won't  be  sech  a  strong  wind  to  push  it.  I 
know  uh  good  place  where  we  c'n  pull  th' 
canoes  over  uh  little  bar  'n'  git  into  uh 
purty  big,  long  stretch  o'  still  water  in  uh 
crick  runnin'  in  fr'm  th'  west.  They's 
uh  high  bluff  o'  rock  on  th'  south  side, 
'n'  th'  fire  c'n  come  right  to  th'  top  o'  th' 
bluff  'n'  not  hurt  us  much.  They's  kind 
o'  short  grass  'long  there  too,  'n'  some 
timber,  so  it  won't  burn  so  fast  there  any 
how.  Liable  to  be  uh  lot  o'  smoke, 


116         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

though,  'n'  we'll  half  to  look  out  fer  that 
too.  C'mon,  less  git  uh  hustle  on  us." 

Down  the  hill  we  went,  helter-skelter 
for  the  canoes,  and  jumping  in,  paddled 
swiftly  to  the  creek  the  boy  spoke  of, 
about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  back  up  the  river. 

Landing,  we  quickly  unloaded  and 
carried  the  canoes  over  a  riffle  for  about 
fifty  yards,  and  launched  them  in  the 
back-water  of  the  creek,  where  we  reloaded 
them  again,  and  then  carefully  picked  a 
path  through  the  shallow  water  until  they 
were  safe  and  snug  under  the  high  rock 
bluff  that  formed  the  south  bank. 

A  safer  place  to  escape  could  hardly  be 
found  in  the  country,  and  to  the  boy's 
quick  judgment  and  intimate  knowledge 
we  owe  our  lives,  probably,  to-day. 

"Say,  I'm  goin'  to  th'  top  o'  th'  bluff  'n' 
see  how  things  is,"  said  the  boy  when  we 
had  everything  safely  fixed,  and  up  he 
went,  climbing  the  straight  sides  of  the 
bluff  by  clinging  to  the  few  bushes  and 
points  of  rock  that  offered  a  foothold. 

Reaching  the  top,  he  stood  for  a  moment 


RACE  WITH  A  PRAIRIE  FIRE    117 

or  two  looking  at  the  smoke  cloud,  and 
then,  turning,  shouted:  "C'mon,  up,  'n' 
fetch  th'  rope  'n'  some  matches.  It's 
only  juss  started  down  fr'm  th'  top  o'  th' 
mountain,  'n'  we  c'n  backfire,  if  we  hurry 
up,  'n'  fool  th'  fire  sure.  Come  a-run- 
nin',  cos  we  hain't  got  no  time  to  swap 
jack-knives." 

I  climbed  up  the  bluff  too,  then,  carry 
ing  the  coil  of  half -inch  rope — about  sixty 
feet  of  it — that  we  used  in  handling  the 
canoes  in  rocky  riffles  sometimes. 

The  boy  took  the  line  and  doubled  it 
around  a  small  jack  oak  that  grew  on  the 
brink  of  the  bluff,  letting  both  ends  hang 
down.  "Now  we  got  uh  quick  way  to 
git  down  if  we  haff  to  run,"  he  said. 

"C'mon,  less  start  uh  backfire  now,"  he 
continued,  as  he  gathered  up  a  great  bunch 
of  dry  grass  and  leaves,  and  twisted  them 
into  a  torch  shape. 

"We  got  to  hurry,  she's  a-comin'!"  he 
said,  as  he  ran  toward  the  coming  fire. 

A  hundred  yards  from  the  creek  bank 
he  stopped,  lighted  his  torch  and  ran 


118          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

parallel  with  the  creek,  dragging  the  burn 
ing  mass  along  the  top  of  the  grass. 

Immediately  tiny  flames  leapt  up  and 
began  growing,  spreading  to  the  north  and 
south. 

When  his  torch  was  burned  out  the  boy 
dropped  the  remains  of  it  and  came  bound 
ing  down  toward  the  creek  like  a  scared 
rabbit. 

"Slide  down!"  he  shouted,  and  down  I 
went. 

A  moment  afterward  he  scrambled  over 
the  edge  of  the  bluff  and  slid  down  the 
double  rope  too;  then  catching  one  end  he 
pulled  the  line  down  and  coiled  it  up. 

'*  Guess  it  can't  bother  us  now.  Yeh 
see  that  fire  'at  I  set  '11  burn  up  to  th'  top 
o'  th'  bluif  here  'fore  th'  big  fire  gits  this 
far,  'n'en  it  burns  toowords  th'  big  fire 
too,  'n'  when  they  meet  they'll  both  go 
out,  'n'  there  yeh  are." 

Even  as  he  spoke  little  wisps  of  burning 
grass  came  tumbling  down  from  above, 
and  we  were  kept  busy  watching  the 
canoes  and  then-  contents. 


RACE  WITH  A  PRAIRIE  FIRE    119 

In  about  ten  minutes  there  was  nothing 
but  a  blackened,  smoking  stretch  of  country 
to  the  south  and  the  big  fire  had  swept  by, 
"jumping"  the  creek  and  going  on  north 
like  an  express  train. 

We  were  safe,  but  pretty  well  choked 
with  the  pungent  smoke,  and  our  eyes  were 
red  and  swollen  to  a  painful  degree. 

"It's  all  right  now,  let's  git  back  to  th' 
river  'n'  g'won  down,"  said  the  boy. 

Soon  we  were  afloat  and  hurrying  down 
to  the  south  with  the  current. 

On  both  sides  there  was  nothing  but 
the  black,  smoking  world;  no  life  any 
where  in  sight.  The  river  was  more  or 
less  covered  with  charred  embers  of  wood 
and  the  debris  of  the  fire  too. 

On  reaching  the  first  little  town  down 
stream,  we  learned  that  the  fire  had  fol 
lowed  the  river  for  a  number  of  miles, 
and  so  concluded  to  give  up  our  voy 
age,  as  there  would  be  no  pleasure  in 
floating  so  far  through  such  a  desolate 
country. 

That  evening  we  loaded  the  canoes  in 


120          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

the  baggage  car  and  went  back  home  on 
the  train. 

The  fire  had  burned  to  the  river  south 
of  town,  and  there  a  combination  of  river, 
fields  and  small  creeks,  coupled  with  a 
change  of  wind,  had  stopped  its  rush,  and 
it  died  a  natural  death. 


BEAVER  TRAPPING  ON  THE 
RIVER 

<4SAY,  I  got  uh  camp  all  fixed  fer  win 
ter  up  river,  'n'  I  reckon  them  beaver 
pelts  is  about  right  now — what  yeh  say, 
less  go  up  'n'  git  'em?"  Thus  the  boy 
spoke  as  he  came  into  my  workshop  one 
bright  November  morning. 

The  leaves  had  become  only  brown  bits 
of  flotsam  that  the  wind  played  tag  with, 
and  piled  into  long  windrows  and  heaps  in 
the  protected  spots  of  ground,  and  the 
trees  were  gray  skeletons  penciled  against 
the  sky.  Frost  whitened  the  ground, 
while  every  morning  there  was  a  fringe  of 
ice  along  shore  in  the  quiet  reaches  of  the 
river,  and  the  air  was  just  snappy  enough 
to  be  like  wood  wine. 

"Well,"  I  answered,  "I  guess  there  is 
no  valid  reason  why  I  should  not  go,  so 
make  your  plans  and  consider  me  a  part 
of  the  outfit." 

121 


122.         JUST  ABOUT  A   BOY 

"Aw  right.  Reckon  we  might  juss  as 
well  figger  on  gittin'  all  th'  fun  we  kin 
while  we're  at  it,  so  I'll  take  all  my  traps 
along — mebby  we  kin  git  some  coons  'n' 
mnssrats  while  we're  ketchin'  them  beaver 
too." 

"What  do  I  want  to  take?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  bring  yer  gun  'n'  shells  fer  ducks 
'n'  geese,  'n'  some  small  shot  fer  quail  'n' 
cottontails,  'n'en  yeh  better  bring  uh 
couple  o'  loads  o'  buckshot,  cos  we  might 
see  uh  ki-ote — some  'round  up  there  aw 
right.  I  got  'nough  outfit  fer  both  of  us, 
'n'  we'll  git  supplies  fer  uh  week  er  so, 
'n'en  we  won't  haff  to  come  back  till  we 
git  them  pelts,  'less  we  want  to." 

"When  will  we  start?" 

"In  th'  mornin',  I  guess — can't  git 
ready  much  'fore  that,  'n'en  they  ain't  no 
use  to  hurry  anyhow,  'n'  we  want  th'  best 
part  of  uh  day  to  git  things  fixed  'n'  th' 
traps  set,  yeh  know.  Say  we  start  early 
in  th'  mornin'?" 

"All  right,  then,  I'll  meet  you  at  the 
landing  about  sunrise  to-morrow." 


BEAVER  TRAPPING          123 

"Uhhuh.     So  long." 

The  next  morning  bright  and  early  I 
hurried  to  the  landing,  where  a  clatter  of 
oars  on  the  sides  of  the  boats  and  the 
sound  of  a  merry  whistle  told  me  that  the 
boy  was  already  on  hand  and  busy. 

"Hullo,  got  here,  did  yeh?" 

"Yes.     I  see  you  are  ready." 

"Yep.  Got  th'  old  'Mud  Hen'  out  V 
loaded  her  up,  cos  I  thought  th'  canoes  ud 
be  uh  leetle  touchy  like  fer  so  late  in  th' 
season — ice  liable  to  come  with  th'  first 
freeze  'n'  it  ud  cut  'em  all  to  pieces,  yeh 
know,  'n'en  th'  old  'Mud  Hen'  '11  stand 
most  any  kind  o'  knockin'  'round  'thout 
hurtin'  her  any.  Git  yer  stuff  in  'n'  less 
be  goin'.  I'll  row  'n'  you  steer,  'n'  have 
yer  shootin'  iron  ready — mighty  apt  to  git 
some  ducks  this  time  o'  day,  yeh  know." 

Five  minutes  later  we  were  leaving  a 
long,  wrinkly  wake  that  spread  across  the 
quiet  stream,  and  tinkled  against  the  thin 
ice  crystals  that  fringed  the  shore.  The 
willows  now  were  gaunt  stripling  trees, 
outlined  like  pen  lines  against  the  morn- 


124          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

ing  sky,  and  the  bine-gray  of  the  timber 
banked  in  behind  them  half-way  to  their 
tops  in  flattened  perspective  from  our  point 
of  view.  Small  brown  birds  chirped 
among  the  bushes  as  they  hunted  their 
morning  meal,  but  the  clatter  of  summer 
visitors  was  lacking,  for  all  the  birds  were 
gone,  save  these  hardy  little  brown  fel 
lows,  and  an  occasional  slate-colored  tit 
mouse  that  ran  up  and  down  the  larger 
tree  trunks,  unmindful  of  whether  he  was 
on  the  upper  or  lower  side,  or  whether  he 
was  headed  up  or  down — gravitation 
seemed  to  have  no  more  effect  on  him  than 
it  does  on  thistle  down. 

"Don't  seem  much  like  it  did  uh  month 
er  so  ago  'long  th'  river  now,  does  it?" 
asked  the  boy.  "Still,"  he  continued, 
4 'they 's  juss  as  much  to  see  'n'  hear  as 
they  was  then,  only  it's  different,  'n'  yeh 
got  to  know  how  to  look  fer  it — these  here 
frosty  mornin's  changes  everything  juss 
like  they  take  th'  leaves  offen  th'  trees, 
don't  they?" 

The  boy  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  com- 


BEAVER  TRAPPING  125 

merit  on  river  life  and  ways  until  we 
reached  his  winter  camp — a  snug  little 
half -sod,  half -dugout  cabin  hidden  away 
in  a  nook  of  the  river  bank. 

"Here  we  are,"  he  announced,  as  he 
pushed  the  nose  of  the  old  "Mud  Hen" 
up  against  the  soft  bank  and  jumped 
out. 

"Less  git  our  truck  hit'  th'  cabin  'n' 
git  things  fixed  up  fer  livin',  'n'en  I  want 
to  git  them  beaver  traps  set  sure  to-night, 
cos  the  sooner  we  git  'em  th'  better,  while 
they  don't  know  we're  in  th'  country. 
Yeh  see,  these  here  beaver  is  mighty  slick 
critters,  'n'  they  savie  things  'fore  yeh 
know  it,  so  th'  best  way  is  to  trap  'em 
'fore  they  know  yer  'round — that's  why  I 
want  ever'  beaver  trap  I  got  set  fer 
to-night." 

"We  piled  our  outfits  into  the  cabin, 
then,  taking  a  hasty  lunch,  loaded  the 
traps  and  ax  into  the  boat  and  were  soon 
pulling  for  the  beaver  grounds  a  mile 
further  up  stream.  On  the  way  we 
stopped  long  enough  for  the  boy  to  cut  six 


126          JUST  ABOUT  A   BOY 

poles,  about  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  and 
strong  enough  to  hold  a  struggling  beaver 
when  the  trap  had  him  fast. 

"Now  you  row  'n'  I'll  fix  these  trap 
poles,"  said  the  boy. 

I  took  the  oars  and  the  youngster  went 
to  work  whittling  wedges  and  splitting  the 
small  ends  of  the  poles,  after  which  he 
slipped  the  ring  of  a  trap  chain  over  the 
end  and  drove  the  wedge  firmly  into  the 
pole,  enlarging  it  so  the  ring  could  by  no 
possibility  be  pulled  off. 

"That's  uh  trick  I  learnt  from  old  man 
Hagey  when  he  was  trappin'  'long  th' 
river  here,  an'  it's  the  best  scheme  I  ever 

saw  to  work  on  uh  beaver  trap 

Whoa!  Now  backup  to  th'  bank  where 
yeh  see  that  kind  o'  uh  wore  place  in  th' 
grass,  'n'  be  careful  yeh  don't  touch  th' 
bank  er  th'  bottom  with  th'  boat,  'n'en 
I'll  set  this  trap  fer  Mr.  Beaver." 

I  backed  the  boat  into  position,  and  the 
boy,  taking  one  of  the  poles,  drove  it 
deeply  into  the  soft  mud  of  the  river,  tip 
ping  it  at  a  slight  angle  downward,  and  in 


BEAVER  TRAPPING          127 

such  a  position  that  it  was  entirely  under 
water  when  he  had  finished. 

Then  he  set  the  powerful  trap,  and  lean 
ing  out,  placed  it  in  the  runway  leading 
into  the  beaver  hole  in  the  bank ;  but  in 
such  a  way  that  the  pan  was  about  four 
inches  under  water ;  then  he  covered  the 
heavy  parts  of  the  trap  with  soft  river 
mud  and  was  finished. 

"That  one'll  ketch  Mr.  Beaver  by  the 
front  foot — left  front  foot — when  he  comes 
out,  'n'en  when  he  finds  he's  fast  he'll 
plunge  right  fer  deep  water,  takin'  th' 
trap  with  him  'n'  slidin'  th'  ring  clear  out 
to  th'  end  o'  th'  pole.  That's  where 
he'll  make  uh  mighty  big  mistake,  cos  th' 
pole's  longer 'n'  th  trap  chain  is,  'n'  he 
can't  git  back  to  th'  shore,  'n'en  th'  trap 
is  so  heavy  he  can't  swim  to  th'  top  fer 
more  fresh  air,  ner  he  can't  git  to  th'  stick 
to  gnaw  it  off,  'n'  'sides  it's  hard  'n'  dry, 
'n'  he  couldn't  cut  it  anyhow  'ithout 
breakin'  his  teeth.  Yeh  see  them  little 
knots  on  th'  pole  is  all  long  enough  to 
ketch  th'  ring  'n'  stop  him  ef  he  should 


128        JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

try  to  git  back  to  shore  after  he  gits 
caught,  'n'  he  can't  hold  his  breath  long 
'nuff  to  gnaw  his  laig  off  'n'  git  out  that 
way,  'n'  there  he  is — juss  got  nnthin'  to 
do  but  drownd  hisself,  cos  he  didn't  stop 
to  think  'bout  how  he'd  git  back  when  he 
struck  fer  deep  water.  That's  what  old 
man  Ilagey  told  me  when  he  showed  me 
how  to  trap  beaver,  'n'  he  knowed  if  ever 
anybody  did — 'n'en  I've  caught  a  lot  of 
'em  that  way  since,  'n'  I  know  it'll  work. 

"Some  folks  puts  castor  on  sticks  'n' 
things  to  draw  beavers  to  th'  trap,  but  I 
think  that  kind  o'  stuff  is  uh  whole  lot  like 
putt  in'  anniss  oil  on  fish  bait — all  uh  lot 
o'  rot  'n'  foolishness.  I  reckon  it's  uh 
whole  lot  better  to  juss  figger  on  bein' 
smarter  'n  whatever  you're  after  is,  'n'en 
you  don't  need  no  such  tomfoolery. 

"Aw  right,  less  g'won  to  th'  next  place 
— got  to  set  these  other  five  traps  to-night. ' ' 

By  and  by  all  the  beaver  traps  were  in 
position,  and  we  went  back  to  camp,  where 
we  soon  had  things  in  good  shape  for  a 
comfortable  stay  of  several  days,  if  need  be. 


BEAVER  TRAPPING  129 

"I'm  goin'  out  'n'  set  uh  lot  o'  these 
mussrat  traps  now,"  said  the  boy.  "Yeh 
git  uh  bite  to  eat,  'n'  I'll  fix  these  rat 
traps  alone — they  ain't  pertic'lar  work,  cos 
uh  rat '11  juss  purt'  near  fall  into  uh  trap  if 
yeh  give  him  uh  chance." 

About  dark  he  came  in,  tied  up  the 
boat,  and  said:  "I  figger  we'll  have  'bout 
four  er  five  beaver  'n'  twenty  er  thirty 
mussrats,  'n'  maby  uh  coon  er  two,  by 
mornin',  less'n  it  comes  uh  storm,  'n'  that 
ain't  likely.  No  thin'  moves  much  when 
it's  a-stormin',  yeh  know,  but  when  th' 
weather  is  like  it  is  now,  all  these  critters 
goes  galavantin'  'round  'bout  all  night,  so 
we'll  have  some  fur  in  th'  mornin'  aw 
right. 

"Less  eat.  I'm  hungrier 'n  uh  ki-ote 
't  ain't  done  nothin'  but  chase  hisself  fer 
uh  month." 

After  supper  I  smoked  and  listened  to 
the  homely  wood  lore  that  the  boy  was  so 
familiar  with,  until  the  fireplace  glowed 
dull  red  and  the  boy  remarked  that, 
"We'd  better  sleep  some." 


SNOWED  UP  IN  CAMP 

"SAY,  I  reckon  that  ain't  more'n  hafl 
bad  fer  one  night's  work,  huh?"  said  the 
boy,  as  he  finished  stretching  the  last 
muskrat  hide  over  a  bent  willow  stick  and 
hung  it  in  company  with  a  dozen  of  its 
kindred,  a  couple  of  coon  skins  and  five 
fine  beaver  pelts  that  dangled  from  the  low 
elm  limb  in  front  of  the  shanty. 

"That's  whut  I  c'nsider  uh  purty  fair 
night's  work — that  is  seem'  'at  trappin' 
ain't  nuthin'  like  it  ust  to  be  when  old 
man  Hagey  trapped  up  'n'  down  th'  river 
here — he  ust  to  git  fifteen  'r  twenty  beaver 
'n  uh  night,  'n'  never  took  no  'count  o' 
xnnssrats  'n'  such  stuff.  Them  was  trap- 
pin'  times,  but  now  they's  so  many  folks 
cum  in  'n'  settled  'long  th'  river  that 
trappin 's  petered  out  complete. 

"I  missed  one  old  beaver  up  there  by 
that  old  cottonwood  log — guess  I  set  the 
trap  uh  little  too  deep  fer  him,  maybe — 
131 


132         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

anyways  it  was  sprung  V  on'y  uh  few 
hairs  in  th'  jaws. 

"He'll  be  mighty  cute  now,  V  I  dunno 
if  I  kin  git  him  right  away  er  not.  Gee, 
I'm  hungry — bin  up  since  daylight,  V  I 
like  to  froze  'fore  I  got  warm  pullin'  up  to 
th'  traps.  This  north  wind  has  got  uh 
mighty  snowy  feel  to  it,  V  ducks  are 
thick  on  th'  river  this  mornin',  so  I 
wouldn't  be  s 'prised  if  we  git  snowed  up 
here  good  V  plenty  'fore  we  knowed  it. 
Got  plenty  o'  grub  though,  so  let  'ersnow, 
whut  d'  we  care,  huh?" 

I  had  breakfast  all  ready  when  the  boy 
finished  his  hide-stretching  operations, 
and  after  a  dip  in  the  icy  current  of  the 
river  and  a  scrub  with  a  rough  towel  the 
youngster  came  in  to  the  table,  his  face 
aglow  with  health,  and  his  appetite  in 
keeping  with  his  looks. 

"Say,  I'll  tell  yeh  whut  less  do  after 
breakfast — less  go  'n'  git  some  ducks  'n' 
have  uh  reg'lar  barbecue  —  whut  d'ye 
say?" 

"All  right,  I'm  with  you.     Won't  you 


SNOWED  UP  IN  CAMP        133 

have  anything  more  to  do  with  the  traps 
to-day?" 

"No,  I  left  'em  all  set  when  I  cum 
down,  'n'  I'll  go  look  at  'em  juss  'fore 
dark  again,  'n'  set  them  other  two  er  three 
mussrat  traps,  'n'en  I  guess  they'll  do  the 
rest." 

Breakfast  over,  we  got  the  guns,  and, 
crossing  the  river,  were  soon  tramping 
through  the  sighing  woods  in  the  direction 
of  a  string  of  ponds  that  the  boy  knew  of. 

"We  don't  want  to  hunt  along  th' 
river,  cos  th'  more  racket  we  make  th' 
more  we  are  li'ble  to  scare  th'  beaver  I'm 
after,"  said  the  young  trapper. 

About  noon  the  chill  wind  that  had 
been  moaning  among  the  trees  all  day 
lulled  itself  to  comparative  quiet,  and  a 
few  big  flakes  of  snow  floated  down 
through  the  gray  branches. 

"Less  git  back  to  camp.  We  got  ducks 
miff,  'n'  it's  goin'  to  snow  plenty.  We 
better  git  uh  stock  o'  wood  up  to  camp 
'fore  it  comes,  too — hard  work,  yeh  know, 
huntin'  wood  when  th'  snow's  got  it  all 


134        JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

buried  up.  I  don't  like  th'  looks  o'  this 
weather  uh  whole  lot,  cos  I  figger  nh 
good,  old-time  storm's  a-comin'  sure,  'n' 
if  it  does  we'll  juss  haff  to  hoof  it  back  to 
town  when  it  clears  up,  'n'  leave  th'  boat 
V  outfit  tull  th'  ice  gits  hard  'nuff  to 
bring  'em  back  on  uh  sled." 

We  were  walking  back  toward  the 
boat  as  we  talked  and  by  mid-afternoon 
had  crossed  the  river  again  amid  a  flying 
swirl  of  downy  flakes  that  half  hid  the  fast 
whitening  landscape,  and  after  our  guns 
and  game  were  stowed  away  inside  the 
cabin,  we  put  in  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
hustling  good,  dry  wood,  and  building  a 
rough  pole  and  grass  shelter  over  it  to 
keep  the  snow  off. 

"Well,  I'm  goin'  'round  to  see  if  th' 
traps  is  aw  right — goin'  'long?"  asked  the 
boy,  as  the  signs  of  evening  came  into  the 
sky. 

A  good  deal  of  scraping  and  brushing 
of  snow  was  necessary  before  we  got  the 
old  "Mud  Hen"  in  shape  for  the  journey, 
but  in  time  she  slipped  out  into  midstream 


SNOWED  UP  IN  CAMP        135 

and  pushed  her  now  icy  nose  up  the  cur 
rent  amid  a  cloud  of  flying  flakes  until  we 
reached  the  beaver  grounds. 

The  river  looked  strangely  black  in  the 
new  white  of  the  rest  of  the  landscape, 
and  every  solid  object  bore  a  great  burden 
of  snow  where  the  wind  did  not  sweep  it 
off  as  fast  as  it  fell.  Our  voices  sounded 
muffled  and  echoless  in  the  increasing 
storm,  and  there  was  a  strange  hurrying 
sound  in  the  air  that  rushed  along  above 
the  tree  tops. 

When  the  traps  were  all  inspected,  the 
boy  cast  a  quick  glance  aloft  and  around 
the  sky  and  said:  "We're  goin'  to  have 
uh  chance  to  break  ice  along  shore  in  thj 
mornin'  when  we  look  at  these  traps,  'n'  I 
wouldn't  wonder  if  to-night's  the  last  of 
it  till  it  freezes  up  solid  'nuff  to  travel  on 
skates — looks  that  way  't  any  rate,  so  we 
might's  well  git  ready  to  break  camp  to 
morrow,  'less  you  want  to  stay  tell  it 
freezes  up." 

An  hour  later  we  were  snug  inside  the 
cabin,  with  a  booming  blaze  in  the  dug-out 


136         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

fireplace,  giving  a  cheerful  warmth  to  the 
little  home  in  the  white  wilderness. 

"Say,  when  are  we  goin'  to  take  that 
trip  west?"  said  the  boy,  as  he  finished 
hanging  his  stock  of  green  pelts  up  over 
the  fireplace  so  they  would  dry,  and  then 
pitched  a  huge  section  of  dry  limb  on  the 
blaze,  so  it  would  need  no  more  attention 
for  some  time. 

"In  the  spring,  I  suppose;  say  when 
grass  gets  good — about  the  last  of  May  or 
first  of  June,"  I  answered. 

"Where'll  we  head  for?  I'd  like  to  go 
to  them  Black  Hills,  up  there  'n  Wyo 
ming,  where  you  was  —  that's  uh  good 
huntin'  country,  ain't  it — 'n'  mountains 
'n'  pine  timber  'nuff  too,  I  reckon — less 
go  up  there." 

"All  right,  that  suits  me.  It  isn't  so 
far  away  as  the  main  chain,  and  it's  as 
good  a  game  country  as  there  is  in  the 
States  to-day.  Besides,  it  has  this  advan 
tage,  we  can  drive  all  over  the  country  up 
there  with  a  wagon,  which  makes  it  a 
mighty  pleasant  place  to  spend  the  sum- 


SNOWED  UP  IN  CAMP        137 

mer  in.  The  water  isn't  anything  to  brag 
about,  but  we  don't  need  to  go  into  the 
alkali  country  much  if  we  don't  want  to; 
the  water  in  the  hills  is  all  right,  except  in 
a  few  places,  and  I  know  where  they  are." 

' 'All  right  then,  that's  a  go.  How'll 
we  go,  wagon  or  pack  horses?" 

"I  think  a  wagon  the  better.  Take  a 
good  broncho  team  and  a  light  outfit  that 
won't  wear  the  horses  out  and  then  travel 
slowly,  and  we'll  be  all  right  for  the  sum 
mer  if  we  want  to  stay  that  long.  There 
is  plenty  of  good  mineral  in  the  hills,  and 
we  might  do  a  little  prospecting,  too,  if  we 
want  to,  as  we  go  along.  Who  knows,  we 
might  strike  a  gold  mine  before  we  get 
back." 

1  '  Well,  I  dunno  much  about  rocks  'n 
stuff,  but  I  reckon  I  kin  learn,  'n'  I'll 
prospect  all  right.  I  reckon  I'd  know  uh 
chunk  o'  gold  if  I  see  it  growin'  on  uh 
tree,  anyhow;  so  I'll  try  it  with  yeh. 
What  I  want  more'n  anything  else, 
though,  is  to  git  uh  crack  at  them  deer  'n' 
elk  'n'  bears  up  there." 


138         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"Well,  we  can  get  our  outfit  together 
this  winter  and  hit  the  trail  as  soon  as 
grass  is  good.  The  details  we  can  figure 
on  as  we  go  along,  and  we'll  be  ready 
before  we  know  it.  What  do  you  say  to 
getting  this  barbecue  of  ours  going  about 
now?" 

"That's  so;  I'd  furgot  all  about  that 
bunch  o'  ducks.  What '11  we  do,  chuck 
th'  ducks  'n'  squirrels  'n'  snipes  all  in 
together  'n'  make  a  potpie  of  'em?" 

"I  reckon  I'm  good  for  half  of  that 
kind  of  a  stew  if  you  can  handle  the  rest," 
I  answered. 

"Here  they  go  then.  You  git  th'  taters 
'n'  onions  'n'  things  ready,  'n'  I'll  yank 
th'  pelts  off  this  bunch  o'  game  while  yeh 
wait,  as  th'  shoemaker  sez  'bout  half- 
solin'  shoes  down  'n  town." 

The  big  stow  kettle  was  soon  giving 
forth  savory  odors,  and  we  hustled  around, 
fixing  up  a  camp  supper  that  was  good  for 
hungry  outdoor  folks,  but  probably  a  little 
rich  for  dyspeptics  to  sleep  on. 

"Gee!  we're  sure  in  fer  it  now,  snow's 


SNOWED  UP  IN  CAMP        139 

uh  foot  deep  this  minit,  'n'  still  comin' 
down  like  th'  ole  scratch,"  said  the  boy, 
as  he  opened  the  door  and  squinted  out 
into  the  night  with  the  air  of  one  who 
knew  the  signs. 


WE  START  FOR  THE  MOUN 
TAINS 

THE  day  came  when  the  snows  were 
melted  and  the  river  ran  bank  full  with  a 
murky  flood.  The  south  wind  was  full  of 
the  earthy  smell  of  spring,  and  robins  and 
bluebirds  flitted  up  out  of  the  sunny  lands 
below  the  southern  horizon.  There  is 
something  about  the  awakening  of  a  new 
summer  that  makes  men  restless,  so  I  was 
not  surprised  when  the  boy  burst  into  the 
workshop  like  a  runaway  cyclone,  and  said, 
"Say,  gee!" 

"What's  the  matter,  now?"  I  asked. 

"Less  git  ready  'n'  go  t'  th'  mountains. 
I'm  juss  dyin'  to  git  out  o'  this  ole  flat 
country.  Gee!  I  feel  's  if  I  c'd  climb 
forty  mile  to-day.  Whut's  th'  use  o'  us 
foolin'  away  our  time  here — less  git  th' 
outfit  together  V  git  uh  hike  on  us!" 

"Now,  see  here,  son,"  I  answered,  "you 
must  use  a  little  horse  sense  and  see  where 
141 


142          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

you  would  come  out  if  you  started  to-day. 
You  know  grass  won't  be  big  enough  for 
horse  feed  for  a  month  yet,  and  up  there 
your  horses  have  got  to  have  grass,  because 
you  cannot  carry  feed  over  a  thousand 
miles  of  wilderness  for  them.  Savvy?" 

"Yep.  Less  git  things  ready,  anyhow, 
'n'  start  juss  's  soon  's  ever  we  can.  You 
tinker  up  th'  wagon  'n'  I'll  git  th'  campin' 
part  o'  th'  outfit  in  shape,  'n'en  we'll 
have  the  whole  thing  ready  sost  t'  leave 
'bout  th'  first  o'  May — what  d'  yeh 
say?" 

"Well,  that  will  do.  Suppose  we  use 
the  shop  for  a  headquarters  and  bring  all 
the  outfit  here.  You  can  come  here  and 
we  can  talk  things  over  and  decide  on  any 
point  that  may  happen  to  be  in  doubt,  so 
that  when  we  start  we  won't  have  to  come 
back  for  anything.'* 

"That's  uh  go,  then.  I'll  go  'n'  over 
haul  all  th'  stuff  I  got  'n'  see  what  we 
want  to  take,  'n'  what  we  don't.  I'll 
fetch  'em  in  as  I  come.  Goo'by;  I'm 
goin'." 


START  FOR  THE  MOUNTAINS    143 

Then  came  thirty  days  of  suppressed 
excitement  and  anticipation  for  the  boy, 
and  at  last  it  was  over.  One  bright  May 
morning  we  drove  down  through  the  town, 
out  across  the  iron  bridge  that  spanned  the 
river,  and  slowly  up  the  long  slope  of  hill 
side  where  the  road  climbed  to  the  high 
"divide." 

The  boy  looked  back  from  the  hilltop, 
and  waved  his  hand  in  a  good-by  to  the 
little  river  where  he  had  lived  so  many 
summers  and  was  now  leaving  to  explore 
other  and  unknown  lands. 

Our  outfit  was  a  light  spring  wagon  with 
a  canvas  cover  and  a  first-class  pair  of 
tough  little  bronchos  that  would  pull, 
buck,  kick  or  run  off  with  equal  vehe 
mence.  Packed  away  in  the  wagon  were  all 
the  things  that  make  a  camper's  heart 
glad,  but  there  was  a  conspicuous  absence 
of  many  useless  and  cumbersome  things 
that  are  made  for  and  used  by  the  would-be 
camper  who  expects  cream  in  his  coffee  in 
the  wilderness  and  kicks  if  he  has  to  use  a 
saddle  for  a  pillow. 


144         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

There  wasn't  much  weight  in  the 
wagon,  but  the  boy  and  I  made  a  good 
many  hundred  miles  with  what  we  did 
have.  This  voyaging  across  the  grass 
land  was  a  joyful  experience  for  both,  and 
the  boy  found  so  many  new  things  to  ask 
about  and  want  information  on  that  it 
kept  me  busy  answering  him. 

Up  along  the  divide  we  journeyed  until 
it  was  time  to  head  northwest,  and  then 
we  wound  down  among  the  cut  clay 
canyons  and  entered  the  great  wide  valley 
of  the  Platte. 

"Say,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  saw  this 
strange  river,  "this  is  uh  funny  kind  o' 
river,  ain't  it?  I've  heard  about  it  lots, 
but  I  never  saw  it  b'fore,  'n'  I  reckon  I 
don't  think  much  of  it,  now't  I  have  seen 
it.  What's  th'  use  o'  uh  river  t'  ain't  got 
any  trees  'long  it  'n'  nuthin'  but  sand  bars 
with  uh  little  water  'round  'em  fr'm  one 
bank  t'  th'  other?  Hump!  Why,  uh 
blamed  ole  catfish  'd  have  more  sense  'n 
to  live  'n  such  uh  place,  seems  t'  me!" 

"That's  where  you  don't  know.     Xow, 


START  FOR  THE  MOUNTAINS    145 

let  me  tell  you  something  about  these  sand 
rivers,  because  you  may  want  to  know  be 
fore  we  get  back.  There  are  plenty  of  fish 
in  all  of  them,  but  you  must  understand 
that  they  stay  in  the  deeper  places,  where 
a  current  swings  around  a  bend  and  under 
mines  the  bank,  for  instance,  or  where  a 
log  happens  to  make  a  'bore'  in  the  sand 
by  swinging  the  current  into  one  place 
and  making  it  wash  the  sand  away. 
Now,  when  you  know  this,  you  will  not 
have  much  trouble  in  catching  a  mess  of 
catfish  in  the  Platte  or  either  of  the 
Loup  rivers,  if  you  use  frogs,  minnows  or 
grasshoppers  for  bait,  depending  on  the 
season  of  the  year,  you  know." 

"I'm  goin'  to  try  'em  first  chance  I  git, 
'f  that's  th'  case.  I'd  like  to  fool  some  of 
'em  just  fer  fun,"  he  answered. 

A  few  days  afterward,  when  we  crossed 
the  South  Loup,  the  boy  made  his  promise 
good,  and  we  feasted  on  catfish  to  our 
hearts'  content. 

One  evening,  as  the  sun  went  down,  it 
threw  a  long,  low  line  of  hills  into  blue 


146          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

relief  in  the  distance,  and  the  boy  noticed 
it. 

"What  hills  are  them,  'way  off  yonder 
— hain't  th'  mountains,  are  they?"  he 
asked. 

"No ;  those  are  the  sandhills,  and  before 
noon  to-morrow  we  will  be  driving  over 
this  strange  country — one  that  is  always 
moving  toward  the  southeast." 

"Ah,  g'won!  What  yeh  givin'  us?"  said 
the  boy. 

"It  is  a  fact,  nevertheless.  You  see 
that  range  of  hills  is  nothing  more  or  less 
than  great  heaps  of  sand,  partly  grassed 
over  and  so  dry  that  the  wind  always  blows 
the  northwest  side  over  the  top  of  the  hill 
and  leaves  it  to  sift  down  on  the  southeast. 
You  see  the  edge  of  the  desert  country  up 
there,  and  by  noon  to-morrow  you  will 
have  seen  the  hills  move  and  will  know 
how  it  is  done  without  any  telling.  This 
country  stretches  from  here  to  the  Nio- 
brara  River,  and  after  we  cross  the  Dismal 
River  we  will  follow  the  Middle  Loup 
right  through  these  sandhills  to  the  other 


START  FOR  THE  MOUNTAINS    147 

side,  where  we  will  come  out  at  the  Pine 
Ridge  country,  and  that  is  the  last  outly 
ing  spur  of  the  Black  Hills,  where  they 
peter  out  and  come  down  to  the  level  of 
the  grass  country.  From  there  the  hills 
get  higher  and  higher,  until  you  get  up 
near  Deadwood,  then  they  begin  to  slope 
the  other  way  again.  You  will  see  all 
these  things  as  you  go  along. ' ' 

"Ain't  they  any  water  'n  these  sand 
hills,  only  where  th'  rivers  cut  through?" 

"Yes,  they  are  full  of  little  lakes  of  the 
finest  kind  of  water,  and  in  season  they 
are  alive  with  ducks  and  geese.  It's  a 
great  game  country  all  through — plenty  of 
deer  and  antelope  and  a  good  many  elk,  in 
parts,  yet.  It  used  to  be  a  great  buffalo 
country,  too,  but  they  are  all  gone  further 
west  or  northwest  now,  and  what  few  are 
left  are  pretty  wild.  It's  a  Sioux  country, 
too,  so  we  may  have  a  chance  to  see  what 
a  war  party  looks  like  before  we  get 
back." 

"Well,  I  dunno  's  I'm  lookin'  fer  any 
Injuns  to  speak  of,  'n'  I  didn't  come  out 


148          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

here  to  do  any  scrimmagin'  'round 
'mongst  'em,  but  I  reckon  we  kin  show 
'em  some  fun  if  they  come  round  lookin' 
fer  uh  fuss." 

"There  was  a  jolly  smile  on  the  boy's 
face  while  he  spoke,  but  there  was  a  glitter 
in  his  eye,  and  a  flush  of  color  on  his 
cheek,  too,  and  I  knew  how  well  he  could 
shoot,  so  I  concluded  it  would  be  pretty 
unhealthy  for  a  small  war  party  of  Indians 
if  they  met  those  repeaters  of  ours  in  a  fair 
open  fight — the  boy  would  be  apt  to  think 
he  had  struck  a  diversion,  and  shoot  and 
laugh  at  the  same  time — he  was  built  that 
way,  and  was  a  Western  boy,  who  natu 
rally  figured  on  a  good  Indian  being  a  dead 
one. 

However,  no  one  got  our  scalps  and  no 
war  bonnets  came  within  our  range  of  vis 
ion  on  the  trip,  and  the  boy  found  plenty 
of  new  and  wonderful  things  to  keep  him 
busy  asking  questions,  and  me  equally 
busy  explaining.  It  would  take  too  much 
space  to  tell  you  how  he  thought  a*soap 
root  was  a  kind  of  a  palm  tree,  "er  palm 


START  FOR  THE  MOUNTAINS    149 

bush,  like,"  as  he  expressed  it,  and  how  a 
mil-age  fooled  him  into  looking  for  a  lake 
one  afternoon,  how  he  wondered  what 
horned  toads  lived  on,  and  was  puzzled 
about  what  kind  of  a  bird  a  young  curlew 
was — he  "reckoned  it  might  be  some  kind 
o'  uh  ostridge,  er  somp'n  o'  that  breed, 
on'y  they  wasn't  no  ostridges  in  th' 
United  States,  't  he  ever  heard  of  'ceptin' 
them  't  was  brought  here  fr'm  Africky." 
He  even  went  out  and  climbed  among 
the  sand  dunes  the  first  night  we  camped 
on  the  edge  of  the  sand-hill  country,  just 
to  satisfy  himself  what  kind  of  sand  they 
were  made  of.  He  was  an  inquisitive, 
wide-awake,  growing  boy,  with  a  thirst  for 
travel  and  the  knowledge  it  brings  with  it 
in  these  days,  and  gave  no  promise  of 
developing  into  the  staid,  steady  man  of 
to-day,  who  talks  good  English,  albeit 
there  may  be  a  good  Western  word  crop 
out  now  and  then  when  he  gets  into  a 
thoughtful  mood  and  talks  of  the  days 
that  are  gone,  when  we  have  watched  the 
golden  sun  sink  into  the  purple  west  and 


150         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

leave  the  sky  a  burning  wilderness  of  color 
against  which  our  white-tilted  wagon 
stood  in  bold  relief  and  our  camp  smoke 
twisted  a  thin  blue  spiral, 


DOWN  IN  THE  QUICKSAND 

"So  THAT'S  th'  Dismal  River,  eh?"  said 
the  boy,  as  we  drove  up  to  the  edge  of  the 
sand  dunes,  where  the  road  pitched  its 
yellow  length  down  toward  the  stream. 

"Less  stop  here  uh  minit  an'  look  at 
things,"  he  continued.  "Seems  's  if  all 
these  rivers  out  here  just  kinder  got  lost 
like  'n'  go  galavantin'  'round  through  th' 
country  'thout  no  speshul  reason  'tall. 
They  ain't  as  nice  as  uh  river  with  trees 
all  'long  th'  bank,  are  they?  Is  ever'  river 
'n  this  country  here  this  same  way,  juss 
nothin'  but  uh  sort  o'  ditch  like,  uh  run- 
nin'  crost  th'  prairie  when  they  ain't  more 
sand  than  they  is  water?" 

"Well,  they  are  a  good  deal  alike,"  I 
answered,  "most  of  them  being  a  ditch  as 
you  say,  down  in  a  wide  level  valley  like 
this  one,  and  all  of  them  are  full  of  sand, 
more  or  less — quicksand  too,  by  the  way, 
and  it  is  apt  to  make  travel  anything  but  a 
151 


152         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

dream  of  pleasure,  if  you  happen  to  get 
down  in  it  with  the  outfit. 

"Do  you  see  that  little  bunch  of  cabins 
away  up  the  valley  there,  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Loup?  No,  here,  away  up 
above  the  mouth  of  the  Dismal,  up  this 
other  valley — that's  the  middle  Loup,  and 
this  river  right  here  in  front  is  the 
Dismal." 

The  boy  looked  slowly  up  the  second 
valley  with  the  glass,  and  then  said: 
"Uh,  huh,  I  see  'em — sort  o'  uh  farm,  I 
guess." 

"Well,  that  is  Farmer's  ranch,  seven 
miles  from  here,  and  the  last  ranch  but 
one  between  us  and  Pine  Ridge.  The 
next  is  Stem's  ranch,  forty  miles  further 
up  stream  and  only  a  littly  way  from 
where  the  Middle  Loup  rises  in  Dock 
Lake,  which  is  just  this  side  of  the  Mobrara 
divide.  I  think  we  had  better  cross  both 
rivers  and  camp  at  Farmer's  to-night,  then 
go  on  up  to  Stem's  to-morrow." 

"What's  the  matter  with  goin'  down 
below  th'  mouth  o'  th'  Dismal,  'n'  crossin' 


DOWN  IN  THE  QUICKSAND  153 

th'  Loup  down  there — won't  haff  to  cross 
but  one  river  then,  'n'  it  'd  be  easier, 
seems  t'  me." 

"That's  where  you  lack  wisdom,  my  son, 
and  show  that  you  are  a  sure  tenderfoot  in 
this  country.  You  must  remember  that 
the  banks  of  these  rivers  are  straight  up 
and  down,  and  from  four  to  forty  or  fifty 
feet  high.  You  can't  drive  a  team  up 
and  down  such  places  very  easily,  can  you? 
Then  you  must  remember  that  this  trail 
we  are  following  was  picked  out  by  the 
cow-punchers  up  here  as  the  best  route  to 
haul  supplies  in  to  camp  over,  so  don't 
try  to  hunt  a  new  road — these  fellows 
know  the  country  and  you  and  I  don't, 
see?" 

"Yep,  'less  g'won  'n'  git  t'  where  we're 
go  in'  then,  cos  th'  sun  ain't  any  too  high 
to  drive  seven  miles  'n'  git  into  camp 
decent." 

We*  careened  and  jolted  down  the  strip 
of  yellow  trail,  sometimes  with  a  deep 
gully  perilously  near  one  side  of  the  road? 
sometimes  with  good  traveling  under  us, 


154          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

but  always  with  the  brake  grinding  against 
the  wheels  and  the  bronchos  bracing  back 
against  the  stout  harness  until  we  rolled 
out  on  the  level  flat  and  on  down  to  the 
sandy  stream,  across  it  and  up  the  valley 
of  the  other  until  we  were  opposite  Farm 
er's  ranch. 

Here  it  was  necessary  to  ford  the  Middle 
Loup,  one  of  the  worst  quicksand  rivers  in 
the  West. 

"I  expect  we'll  get  down  in  the  sand 
here  with  the  outfit,  sure,"  I  remarked; 
"never  crossed  this  river  when  I  didn't,  so 
we  had  better  get  into  shape  to  work 
quickly  if  we  do." 

The  boy  looked  at  me  with  a  quick  side 
glance  that  he  had  a  habit  of  using,  and 
said:  "Humph.  That's  uh  nice  layout, 
I  reckon.  What  yeh  goin'  to  do  to  buck 
quicksand  anyhow?" 

"Well,  about  the  first  thing  is  to  be 
ready  to  jump  overboard  right  suddenly  if 
the  horses  go  down,  and  get  them  loose 
from  the  wagon  and  loose  from  each  other 
so  they  can  flounder  across.  The  water 


DOWN  IN  THE  QUICKSAND  155 

isn't  very  deep,  and  if  a  broncho  is  free  to 
flounder  around  all  he  wants  to,  you  won't 
see  him  mire  down  so  he  can't  get  out. 
We'd  better  get  off  our  shoes  and  surplus 
clothing  and  get  the  picket  ropes  and  tow 
line  ready  for  business.  Better  fasten  a 
picket  rope  to  each  horse's  neck  and  bring 
the  coil  back  into  the  wagon,  because  these 
horses  of  ours  would  be  pretty  hard  to  get 
hold  of  if  they  got  loose  in  this  country." 

Everything  was  soon  in  readiness  for  the 
crossing,  and  we  drove  out  into  the  current 
of  the  stream.  All  went  well  until  we 
were  in  mid-stream,  then  the  horses  struck 
the  quicksand,  and  after  a  couple  of  in 
effectual,  floundering  leaps  they  were  both 
fast  down  in  the  sand,  until  the  water 
lapped  over  their  backs  as  they  lay  mired 
there  in  the  current. 

"Now,  out  you  go,  partner,"  I  said. 
"Get  your  horse  loose  from  the  traces  and 
loose  from  the  other  horse.  I'll  attend  to 
this  side.  They  won't  move  for  a  minute 
or  two,  but  when  they  begin  to  throw  their 
heads  up,  look  out,  for  they'll  jump  in  a 


15G          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

moment  more.  Get  hold  of  your  horse's 
rope  then  and  let  him  go  to  the  bank  after 
his  own  fashion,  but  stay  with  him.  You 
must  keep  moving  as  you  work  or  you  '11 
go  down  too." 

We  were  both  in  the  water  and  working 
swiftly  while  I  talked,  loosening  the  traces 
and  the  snaps  that  held  the  neck  yoke  and 
lines  to  the  harness. 

"Look  out  now!  Your  horse  is  going 
to  get  up — get  away  from  him !"  I  shouted, 
as  I  saw  signs  of  movement  on  the  boy's 
side. 

The  horse  floundered  to  his  feet,  went 
down,  plunged  up  and  ahead  again,  and 
kept  going  until  he  reached  the  bank, 
where  he  stood  dripping  wet  and  quiet 
with  the  boy  safe  by  his  side. 

My  horse  rested  a  little  longer,  and  then 
he  too  got  up,  only  to  go  down  worse  than 
ever,  but  he  was  a  range  horse,  and  had 
been  through  this  same  experience  before, 
so  he  kept  quiet  a  few  minutes  and  then 
began  to  roll,  going  entirely  under  water 
and  over  on  his  other  side,  where  he 


DOWN  IN  THE  QUICKSAND  157 

jumped  to  his  feet,  plunged  forward  and 
was  down  again. 

Trying  to  drive  a  horse  under  such  cir 
cumstances  will  only  result  in  disaster,  but 
if  left  to  take  their  own  time  they  will 
come  out  all  right,  so  I  kept  moving  about 
and  let  the  horse  work  out  his  own  salva 
tion,  and  in  a  few  minutes  he,  too,  stood 
panting  and  wet  beside  the  other  on  the 
bank,  none  the  worse  for  wear. 

"Now  you  take  care  of  the  team  and  I'll 
get  the  neck  yoke  and  double  trees,  so  we 
can  tow  the  wagon  out,"  I  said  to  the 
boy,  as  I  waded  back  after  these  two  much 
needed  articles  that  were  still  in  mid 
stream  on  the  slowly -sinking  wagon. 

"Now  hitch  them  up  and  fasten  the  two 
picket  lines  to  the  double  tree,"  I  said,  as 
I  went  back  again  after  a  heavy  line, 
which  we  had  brought  along  for  just  such 
scrapes,  and  I  soon  had  it  fast  to  the 
doubled  picket  lines  and  to  the  end  of  the 
wagon  tongue. 

"Now  when  you  are  ready  drive  straight 
back  away  from  the  river  so  you  will  pull 


158         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

the  wagon  across,  and  I'll  stay  here  to  keep 
the  tongue  up  and  steer  the  ship,"  I  called 
to  the  boy  as  I  got  back  to  the  wagon 
again. 

"Aw  right;  ready?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  go  ahead." 

The  wiry  little  team  put  a  strain  on  the 
rope,  then  got  down  close  to  the  ground 
and  pulled  like  majors.  The  wagon 
heaved  upward  out  of  the  sand  and  then 
rolled  and  swayed  across  the  current  like 
a  ship  at  sea,  as  the  wheels  sunk  into  the 
soft  spots  in  the  bottom,  and  were  pulled 
on  out  again,  and  at  last  the  outfit  rolled 
up  the  bank  and  came  to  a  stop  on  the 
solid  ground. 

"Say,  gee,"  said  the  boy,  "I'd  never  'a' 
thought  o'  that  way  o'  get  tin'  out  o'  th' 
sand!" 

"That  is  a  trick  I  saw  worked  a  long 
time  ago,  my  boy,  by  an  outfit  right  down 
on  the  South  Loup.  It  isn't  very  elegant, 
but  you  notice  it  works,  as  all  the  other 
little  things  work  out  here,  where  men 
have  to  take  care  of  themselves." 


DOWN  IN  THE  QUICKSAND  159 

"They's  always  uhway  to  do  ever 'thing 
most  if  yeh  juss  know  how,  but  th'  trick 
of  it  is  learning  ain't  it?"  said  the  boy. 


JUST   "HITTING   THE  TRAIL" 

"This  here's  whut  yeh  call  sage  brush, 
is  it?"  inquired  the  boy,  as  he  climbed  up 
in  the  wagon  seat  with  one  of  the  highly 
scented  shrubs  in  his  hand  and  turned  it 
over  and  over,  inspecting  every  branch  and 
leaf.  "Seems  's  'ough  it'd  ought  to  grow 
bigger 'n  that  if  it  was  goin'  to  grow  't  all, 
but  I  reckon  they's  uh  reason  why  it  don't 
if  uh  feller  juss  know'd  it." 

"Well,"  I  replied,  "you  notice  that  this 
ground  is  very  hard,  and  that  water  is 
pretty  scarce — two  conditions  that  have 
helped  to  produce  this  knotty,  gnarly  little 
excuse  for  a  tree.  I  have  seen  them 
further  west  where  they  grow  six  or  eight 
feet  high  in  the  creek  bottoms  near  water. 
Take  it  up  in  the  foothills  this  side  of  the 
main  range,  where  the  soil  is  fairly  good 
and  the  water  is  plenty,  there  you  will  see 
it  grow  to  a  good-sized  bush." 

"Hain't  much  water  here  't  any  time  o' 
161 


162          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

year,  I  sh'd  judge,  juss  fr'm  th'  looks  o' 
things,  is  they?" 

"Xo,  not  very  much.  You  see,  this 
country  is  had  lands — that  is  Pine  Ridge 
off  yonder  where  you  can  see  that  chain  of 
hills  with  the  evergreens  on.  Over  here  is 
the  South  Fork  of  the  Cheyenne  River, 
where  it  runs  around  the  south  edge  of  the 
Black  Hills,  or,  rather,  "between  the  hills 
and  the  had  lands. 

4  *  This  is  a  curious  country  up  here,  you 
notice.  The  line  of  formation  is  as  clear 
hetween  the  hills  and  the  had  lands  as 
though  they  were  miles  apart.  Here  the 
water  is  loaded  with  alkali — across  the 
Cheyenne  Eiver  it  is  good.  There  is  no 
grass  nor  rocks  here  to  speak  of,  and  across 
the  river  both  are  plenty.  Here  it  is  bad 
lands;  there  it  is  mountains  and  fairly 
good  soil." 

"That's  kind  o'  curious,  ain't  it? 
What  makes  it  that  way?" 

"It  is  the  formation,  that  is  all — just  a 
geological  freak.  The  bad  lands  are  a 
sedimentary  formation  and  the  hills  are  an 


"HITTING  THE  TRAIL"       163 

upheaval.  The  probabilities  are  that  what 
we  see  in  the  present  Black  Hills  country 
is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  tops  of 
a  half-buried  mountain  range,  and  that 
the  country  we  are  traveling  over  now  is 
the  bottom  of  some  ancient  lake  that " 

"Whoa!  gimme  th'  shotgun!" 

The  boy  grabbed  the  gun  and  tumbled 
out  of  the  wagon  in  a  reckless  way  that 
endangered  himself  and  the  whole  outfit, 
but,  boylike,  landed  on  his  feet  and  ready 
for  business.  Walking  back  and  to  one 
side  of  the  road  a  few  paces,  he  flushed  a 
pair  of  pintail  grouse,  both  of  which  came 
tumbling  down  as  the  gun  cracked  twice 
in  quick  succession. 

"What  kind  o'  prairie  chickens  d'  yen 
call  them?"  he  asked,  as  he  climbed  back 
and  inspected  his  birds.  "I  never  saw  no 
chickens  like  them  down  'long  th'  river  at 
home." 

"No,  I  guess  you  never  did.  Those 
birds  are  pintail  grouse,  and  the  prairie 
chicken  is  a  different  grouse  altogether. 
This  one  lives  up  here  along  the  streams, 


164         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

and  only  comes  up  in  the  high  coun 
try  to  nest.  You  should  have  left 
them  both  alone,  as  they  are  probably  a 
pair  that  are  nesting  around  here  some 
place." 

"That's  so,"  said  the  boy.  "Fact  is,  I 
never  thought  nothin'  'bout  it  when  I 
shot  'em.  I  juss  see  uh  new  kind  o'  bird 
V  took  'em  in.  Reckon  I'll  haff  to 
r 'member  'bout  sich  things  after  this  too 
— less'n  we're  short  o'  meat  er  somp'n." 

All  day  long  we  drove  over  the  clay  hills 
and  along  the  sage  brush  flats,  crossing  the 
Cheyenne  River  without  accident  in  time 
to  go  into  camp  on  the  north  bank,  where 
a  little  clump  of  cottonwood  trees  made  us 
feel  as  if  we  had  friends  near  by  instead  of 
being  just  a  wandering  outfit  all  alone  in 
the  wilderness,  and  an  Indian  wilderness 
at  that,  for  we  were  not  so  very  many  miles 
from  the  spot  where  old  Sitting  Bull  got 
the  long  call  for  the  happy  hunting 
grounds  in  after  years. 

We  would  soon  be  among  the  Black 
Hills  now,  and  the  boy  kept  up  a  rapid 


"HITTING  THE  TRAIL"      165 

fire  of  questioning  that  got  me  busy  find 
ing  answers  for. 

"Say,  gee!"  lie  remarked,  as  he  put  the 
kettle  on  containing  the  two  grouse,  with 
the  idea  of  producing  one  of  his  camp 
stews — made  from  any  kind  of  game  that 
came  handy,  seasoned  with  vegetables  and 
a  bit  of  pork.  "Say,  I'm  juss  hankerin' 
fer  uh  crack  at  uh  elk  er  deer  er  bear — 
don't  care  much  which,  but  I  want  to  git 
uh  shot  at  somp'n  big.  This  here  ole 
.45-70  o'  mine  's  juss  git  tin'  rusty  f'r 
somp'n  to  do.  Here  we  been  out  two 
weeks  'bout  'n'  we  hain't  seen  nothin' 
bigger 'n  uh  kiote,  'ceptin'  them  two 
antelope  down  'n  th'  sand  hills,  'n'  yeh 
wouldn't  lemme  shoot  at  them." 

"Look  here,  son,  I  told  you  why  you 
shouldn't  shoot  antelope,  or  deer  either, 
for  that  matter,  in  the  spring,  didn't  I? 
Now  here  you  are  getting  bloodthirsty 
again,  and  you  don't  stop  to  consider  that 
we  have  plenty  to  eat,  and  that  big  game 
in  the  spring  is  the  last  thing  any  white 
man  wants  to  eat  anyhow.  Now,  you  just 


166          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

keep  your  ammunition  until  we  run  out  of 
grub  or  some  Sioux  wants  our  hair  for  his 
own  personal  decoration;  then  you  may 
blaze  away  to  your  heart's  content.  Other 
wise,  don't  get  foolish  and  do  things  that 
you  might  regret." 

1  'I  guess  they's  uh  heap  more  sense  V 
they  is  poetry  in  that,  too,"  said  the  boy, 
good-naturedly.  * '  I  ought  to  know  better, 
V  I  do  know  better,  too,  'n  to  kill  things 
'n  th'  spring,  but  I  reckon  uh  feller  gits 
sort  o'  fergetful  like,  sometimes,  'n'  juss 
wants  to  kill  everything  he  sees  juss  cos  he 
can.  Course,  bears  'n'  kiotes  don't  count, 
'n'  'f  ever  I  run  'crost  uh  bear  I'm  goin' 
to  shoot  'n'^keep  uh  shootin'  tull  I  git 
him  er  haff  to  run. " 

"You  had  better  give  any  bear  that  you 
meet  in  this  part  of  the  country  the  right 
of  way  unless  you  've  things  all  your  own 
way,"  I  answered.  "They  grow  pretty 
big  up  here,  and  they  have  a  nasty  habit 
of  clawing  people  all  to  pieces  after  you 
shooi;  them  full  of  holes.  They  have  a 
way  of  living  long  enough  to  damage  a 


"HITTING   THE    TRAIL"     167 

man  pretty  considerably  after  they  are 
shot  through  the  heart." 

"Well,"  said  the  youngster,  reflectively, 
chewing  a  straw  as  he  looked  into  the 
blaze,  "they's  one  thing  sure;  if  I  see  uh 
bear  'n'  kin  git  uh  good  stiddy  shot  at  his 
ole  head  I'm  goin'  to  crack  away,  'n'  I 
bet  he  won't  feel  much  like  eatin'  me  up 
after  one  of  these  ole  . 45-70 's  o'  mine  goes 
through  him  'tween  his  year  'n'  his  eye." 

"You  had  better  put  it  a  little  further 
back,  for  a  bear's  brain  is  mostly  behind 
his  ears  and  pretty  low  down.  Aim  low 
and  well  back  and  you  have  a  chance  to 
break  his  neck  and  to  brain-shoot  him,  in 
which  case  he  would  probably  be  through 
with  the  troubles  of  this  mundane  sphere. " 

"Huh!  Gittin'  funny,  ain't  yeh,  on 
this  here  bear  talk." 

"Oh,  no;  just  giving  a  rank  young 
tenderfoot  a  few  pointers,  that's  all.  I 
think,  however,  that  you  will  not  need 
many  pointers  on  what  to  do  if  you  meet 
one  of  these  bears  that  run  through  this 
country — you'll  be  mostly  running." 


168          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"Oh,  I  durmo!  Course  I  ain't  goin'  to 
take  no  fool  chances  with  uh  big  bear ;  but 
if  one  of  'em  gives  me  uh  haff  uh  show 
I'll  juss  everlastin'ly  lambaste  him  full  o' 
holes  er  quit  shootin' — that's  uh  sure 
thing." 

"Better  let  him  get  away  if  he  will,  my 
boy.  They're  mighty  unhandy  to  have 
around  the  house." 

"We'll  see,"  he  answered,  reluctant  to 
give  up,  and  I  thought  perhaps  he'd  better 
be  taken  care  of  while  we  were  up  there 
for  fear  he  would  do  something  he  would 
regret  if  he  met  a  big  bear.  However,  my 
fears  were  groundless,  for  ho  was  with  big 
Ike  Ward  when  he  met  his  bear,  and  Ike 
did  all  the  killing,  while  the  boy  stood  by 
and  took  a  big  dose  of  experience  that 
might  be  called  bear  cure. 

"How  long  '11  it  be  'fore  we  git  into  real 
mount 'ins?"  he  asked,  as  he  rolled  up  in 
his  blanket  and  waited  for  sleep. 

"About  to-morrow  or  next  day,  I  guess 
—depends  on  the  trail  we  take.  If  we  go 
up  Skull  Creek  we  ought  to  camp  about 


"HITTING  THE  TRAIL"       169 

Kara  Creek  or  at  the  foot  of  Inyan  Kara 
Mountain  day  after  to-morrow  night,  I 
should  think." 

"Injun  Kara?  Whut  kind  o'  uh  name's 
that?" 

"  Sioux.  Means  a  mountain  inside  of  a 
mountain.  Now  let's  go  to  sleep.  I'm 
dog  tired." 

" Aw  right." 


A  NIGHT  EXPERIENCE 

"So  THAT'S  Inyun  Kara,  is  it?  Well, 
that  looks  like  uh  sure  nuff  mount 'in  aw 
right — on'y  it  don't  seems  'ough  it  wuz 
very  big,  that  is,  not  fer  uh  mount 'in," 
said  the  boy,  as  he  stood  squinting  through 
the  purple  twilight  at  the  great  bulk  of 
Inyan  Kara  Mountain. 

Our  camp-fire  glimmered  with  a  daylight 
glare  and  a  thread  of  blue  smoke  twisted 
lazily  up  toward  the  crimson  and  gold 
clouds,  floating  so  high  above  us.  The 
canvas  tilt  of  the  wagon  was  tinted  with  a 
warm,  reflected  light,  and  the  horses  were 
munching  the  grass,  which  grew  all  over 
the  flat  valley  of  the  boisterous  stream. 

The  boy,  arms  akimbo  and  hat  thrown 
back,  stood  feasting  his  eyes  on  the  first 
real  mountain  sunset  that  he  had  ever  seen. 

1 1  Say,  gee !     Looks  most  like  you  could 
hit  that  ole  pine  up  'n  top  o'  that  cliff 
with  uh  rifle  ball,  don't  it?" 
171 


172          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

I  smiled  as  I  thought  of  the  distance  and 
answered:  "If  you  could  shoot  three 
times  as  far  as  you  can  and  shoot  straight 
enough,  perhaps  you  could  hit  that  tree — 
it  is  about  nine  miles  up  to  where  it 
stands,  you  see,  and  the  very  best  you 
could  do  would  be  to  throw  a  bullet  a 
couple  or  three  miles. " 

"Course  I've  read  about  how  this  here 
mount'in  air's  mighty  deceiving  but  I 
didn't  have  any  idee  it  was  that  bad. 
Why  uh  feller  c'n  see  ever  limb  'n  ever'- 
thing  up  there — it  don't  seem  's  'ough  it 
was  possible  it's  eight  er  nine  mile  up 
there." 

"Well,  you  can  see  for  yourself  to-mor 
row  just  how  far  it  is,  for  I've  an  idea  we 
will  camp  up  about  the  mouth  of  the 
canyon  for  a  few  days  and  run  around 
afoot.  There  is  a  good  spring  up  there, 
but  it  only  flows  a  little  way  and  sinks 
into  the  ground,  the  same  as  all  the 
springs  in  this  part  of  the  world  do. 
Wood  is  plenty,  and  there  is  a  nice  little 
glade  there  with  plenty  of  grass  for  the 


A  NIGHT  EXPERIENCE      173 

horses,  so  we  can  stay  as  long  as  we  want 
to. 

"The  reason  I  wanted  to  camp  down 
here  to-night  was  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
see  the  big  hill  at  a  distance,  and  get  the 
general  lay  of  the  land,  for  when  you  get 
up  there  you  will  find  the  whole  landscape 
looking  very  different  from  what  it  does 
now.  There  are  certain  big  canyons  and 
cliffs  which  you  can  get  located  from  here 
so  you  will  have  landmarks  to  go  by,  for 
you  can  lose  yourself  very  easily  up  in  the 
rough  country,  and  find  that  camp  isn't 
where  you  thought  it  was  —  everything 
looks  so  much  like  everything  else,  you 
know." 

"Uh  huh,  I  see.  Feller  sort  o'  wants 
to  figger  th'  main  points  out  sost  he  c'n 
travel  'thout  payin'  much  'tention  to  th' 
rest  o'  th'  country,  's  that  it?" 

"You  have  the  idea  exactly." 

The  boy  studied  the  rugged  features  of 
the  silent  old  mountain  until  it  lost  detail 
and  loomed  up  as  a  huge  blue-black  silhou 
ette  against  the  pink  glow  of  the  changing 


174         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

sky,  and  I  suppose  he  thought  the  same 
thoughts  that  all  outdoor  people  think 
when  they  look  on  the  gigantic  works  of 
Dame  Nature,  and  find  how  small  men 
are,  compared  to  them. 

When  the  horses  were  brought  in  and 
the  night  grew  old,  we  rolled  up  in  our 
blankets  there  under  the  scintillating  stars, 
and  the  boy  had  a  lot  of  questions  to  ask, 
as  usual,  before  we  fell  asleep. 

"Gee,"  ho  said,  "don't  it  seem  still  up 
here  'n  this  country?  Nothin'  on'y  juss 
that  tinkly  noise  o'  water  scootin'  'long 
down  there  over  th'  stones  'n  th'  creek — 
'n'  th'  horses  juss  chompin'  'n'  munchin' 
th'  grass  like  it  was  sponge  cake  er  somp'n' 
good  like  that. 

"Hear  that  coyote  howl  juss  then? 
Seems  'as  'ough  he  was  forty  mile  fr'm 
here,  don't  it?  That  kind  o'  uh  soft  noise 
like  it  comes  uh  nawful  long  ways,  on'y 
it's  juss  's  plain  's  'ough  it  was  clost  by, 
hain't  it?  Whut's  er  reason  o'  that?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  its  the  clearness  of 
the  air  that  makes  it  such  a  good  conductor 


A  NIGHT  EXPERIENCE       175 

of  sound.  I  have  heard  men  talking  in 
just  ordinary  tones  out  here  when  I  could 
hardly  see  them.  Of  course  I  couldn't 
hear  what  they  said,  but  I  knew  it  was 
men  talking.  It  was  plain  enough  for 
that.  I  have  heard  grouse  and  other  birds 
calling  early  in  the  morning,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  right  up  close  too,  when 
in  reality  they  were  a  long  distance  away. 

"This  sound  business  out  here  is  like 
the  distance — you  are  apt  to  have  a  chance 
to  guess  again  before  you  get  it  just  right. 
I  remember  once  I  heard  a  big  landslide 
come  down  the  side  of  a  mountain  in  the 
night " 

"Whoa!  whoa!  Bill!  Steady  there, 
whoa,  boy!" 

"Here  kid,  you  keep  down.  Don't  jump 
up  and  sh<5w  yourself  that  way.  Keep 
down  in  the  sage  until  we  know  what's 
up — may  be  Indians.  Got  your  guns?" 

"Yep." 

"Keep  low  then  and  creep  after  me." 

The  horses  were  alarmed  and  snorting, 
and  something  was  wrong  in  camp. 


176         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

Silently  we  crept  through  the  grass  and 
sagebrush  clumps  of  the  creek  bottom, 
keeping  close  to  the  ground,  thus  being 
pretty  sure  of  concealment,  and  at  the 
same  time  having  the  advantage  over  any 
man  or  animal  that  might  bo  standing  up, 
because  they  would  be  more  or  less  against 
the  light  of  the  sky. 

Suddenly  I  spied  five  gray  forms  hardly 
distinguishable  from  the  surrounding 
brush,  in  the  half -gloom  of  the  night. 

"S-s-sh!  There  they  are!  Loafer 
wolves — five  of  them.  You  take  the  one 
on  the  left  and  I'll  take  the  right-hand 
side.  Count  three  and  give  it  to  them," 
I  whispered. 

"One,  two — crash!" 

The  rifles  cracked  with  a  sharp,  spiteful 
sound,  and  a  moment  later  the  whole 
valley  resounded  with  a  cannonading  of 
echoes  mixed  with  snarling  growls  of  pain 
and  the  snorting  of  the  horses — pande 
monium  seemed  to  have  broken  loose  in 
the  quiet  valley. 

"Get   the  lantern— I'll  attend  to  the 


A  NIGHT  EXPERIENCE       177 

horses,"  I  said,  as  I  groped  my  uncertain 
way  toward  the  animals,  being  still  half 
blinded  by  the  flash  of  the  rifles  across  the 
darkness. 

In  a  few  moments  the  boy  came  running 
back  with  the  light  and  the  trembling 
horses  soon  became  quiet  again  and 
turned  to  their  feeding  as  we  went  out  to 
see  what  damage  we  had  inflicted  on  the 
wolf  pack. 

First  a  still,  shaggy  form  came  into  view, 
looking  strangely  white  in  the  lantern 
light,  but  done  for,  as  a  big,  dark  patch 
on  the  shoulder  indicated. 

A  little  to  the  right  was  another  sitting 
up  on  his  haunches  with  forefeet  braced 
wide  apart  and  bloody  froth  dripping  from 
his  fanged  jowles. 

If  ever  an  animal  looked  the  demon,  it 
was  that  wolf  there  in  the  lamplight.  His 
eyes  blazed  green  and  his  ears  were  flat 
against  his  head,  while  the  curved  lips  were 
raised  in  an  angry  snarl  above  the  red  jaw 
and  its  shining  row  of  white  pointed  teeth. 
Bloody  froth  came  from  his  throat,  and 


178         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

the  clicking  gurgle  of  a  lung-shot  beast 
was  his  defy  to  us  as  he  half  stood  there, 
unable  to  fight  back,  but  with  the  mental 
inclination  to  do  so  very  much  in  evidence. 
Only  a  moment  the  savage  picture  lasted ; 
then  the  muscular  front  legs  trembled,  his 
great  head  sank  down,  and  he  settled  to 
the  earth;  a  few  rasping  gurgles  and  a 
few  twitches  of  the  great  muscles,  and  he 
was  dead. 

Gee!  here's  another  one!"  shouted  the 
boy,  as  he  heard  a  little  noise  in  the  sage. 

We  ran  toward  this  third  one,  crouching 
as  well  as  he  was  able  among  the  sage. 

"lie's  back-shot,"  said  the  boy,  looking 
down  at  the  beast. 

This  one  showed  none  of  the  anger  or 
fight  that  marked  the  one  just  dead,  but 
seemed  rather  to  want  to  slink  away  and 
avoid  us,  being  shot  in  such  a  way  that  his 
whole  hinder  parts  were  paralyzed. 

The  boy  pulled  his  six-shooter,  and, 
advancing  to  within  a  couple  of  paces,  shot 
the  wolf  behind  the  foreleg  and  finished 
his  miseries.  Then,  gathering  our  tro- 


A  NIGHT  EXPERIENCE       179 

phies,  we  returned  to  camp,  trailing  them 
along  behind  us. 

'Funny  how  that  third  one  got  it, "  said 
the  boy.     "I  didn't  see  him.     Did  you?" 

"No,  I  didn't,  either.  He  must  have 
been  a  little  further  back,  in  the  shadow, 
and  lined  up  with  one  of  the  others,  I 
guess." 

"Are  they  dangerous?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Well,  no,  not  very,  generally.  Of 
course,  if  you  happen  to  be  caught  out  in 
a  deep  snow  by  a  hungry  bunch  of  them 
they  would  probably  make  pretty  short 
work  of  you.  They  do  not  run  in  packs 
much,  though,  and  are  much  more  apt  to 
be  alone  or  in  pairs  than  in  any  other  way. 
I  don't  quite  understand  why  they  should 
be  together  here  at  this  time  of  the  year, 
unless  there  is  a  carcass  somewhere  near. 
They  kill  a  great  deal  of  stock  and  some 
game,  and  feed  on  any  carcass  that  they 
find. 

"They  are  what  the  old  hunters  call  the 
buffalo  wolf,  because  they  hung  along  the 
flanks  of  the  buffalo  herd,  waiting  to  pull 


180          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

down  the  calves  or  the  old  creatures.  The 
cow  men  call  them  loafer  wolves,  for  some 
unknown  reason,  probably  a  corruption  of 
the  Spanish  *Lobo.'  though,  and  the 
'wolfers'  who  roam  all  over  this  plains 
country  call  them  loafers,  to  distinguish 
them  from  coyotes  and  timber  wolves. 

"Now,  let's  turn  in,  and  we  can  take 
the  pelts  off  in  the  morning. ' ' 


UP  KAEA  MOUNTAIN  AND 
DOWN  AGAIN 


r'  can't  be  much  nicer  'n  that, 
can  it?"  asked  the  boy,  as  he  stood  looking 
up  at  the  mist-hung  peak  of  Inyan  Kara 
Mountain  from  our  new  camp  in  the  little 
glade  by  the  spring. 

The  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  were  pen 
ciling  the  fleecy  clouds  with  gold  and  crim 
son,  while  the  lower  bulk  of  the  great  hill 
was  still  a  mass  of  indigo  blue  and  a 
blended  pile  of  rocks  and  timber,  reaching 
up  to  the  sharply  delineated  crest. 

"Say  ;  I  reckon  ut  uh  feller  livin'  down 
'n  th'  flat  country  'long  th'  river  doanno 
what  he's  missin'  tull  he  sees  this  kind  o' 
sights,  does  he?  Gee!  don't  seem  s'ough 
juss  light  'n'  air'd  do  that,  but  I  reckon 
that's  all  they  is  to  it  —  'ceptin'  th'  rocks 
'n'  timber  'n'  things. 

"  Looks  purtier  'n  any  picture  't  ever  I 
see  —  them  kind  ut  fellers  'n'  girls  paint 
181 


182         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

to  hang  on  th'  wall,  yer  know — on'y  th' 
girls  mostly  allus  seems  to  paint  flowers 
'stid  o'  mountains  V  things ;  'at  is,  things 
like  that.  Reckon  that  hain't  th'  girls' 
fault,  though,  'cos  they  mostly  stay  where 
they's  people  'n'  don't  come  galevantin' 
round  'mongst  th'  mountains  where  th' 
snakes  'n'  bugs  'n'  critters  is;  reckon 
they'd  git  th'  life  'bout  skeart  out  of 
'em  ahunerd  times  uh  day  if  they  did; 
so  they  natchelly  juss  haff  to  paint  flow 
ers. 

" Course  th'  flowers  ut  they  paint  don't 
look  much  like  reel  flowers,  but  then  th' 
girls  is  satisfied,  I  guess,  so  what's  th' 
odds?" 

"Well,  young  man,  you'd  better  stop 
moralizing  and  get  your  pack  sack  on  if 
we  are  to  climb  that  hill  and  get  back  to 
camp  to-day,"  I  said,  as  I  threw  my 
traveling  pack  over  my  shoulders. 

"Aw  right,  I'm  with  yeh,"  he  replied, 
slinging  the  straps  up  over  his  sturdy  arms 
and  giving  the  pack  a  shake  to  settle  it 
into  position. 


UP  KARA  MOUNTAIN        183 

EGo  ahead,  V  I'll  keep  yer  moc'sins 

lovin'." 

Then  we  slowly  conquered  the  pitching 
trail  that  led  ever  upward  over  steep  slopes 
covered  with  smooth  pine  needles,  where 
a  misstep  would  have  sent  us  crashing 
down  into  the  gulch — on  up  over  great 
masses  of  tumbled  rocks  that  had  ridden 
some  snow-slide  half  way  down  the  moun 
tain  in  former  days,  and  over  all  the  little 
narrow  ledges,  where  we  must  needs  face 
the  cliff  and  cling  with  our  finger  tips  and 
moccasined  toes  and  not  look  down  into 
the  dim  gulch,  with  its  mass  of  seemingly 
needle-pointed  pines,  reaching  upward,  so 
_far  below. 

Past  the  sunny,  moss-covered  rocks, 
where  the  yellow  violets  grew  in  the  crev 
ices  and  the  quaint,  waxy  mountain  flowers 
sidle  up  against  the  boulders  for  protection 
from  the  winds  that  forever  moan  across 
the  high  places  of  the  earth. 

Then  at  last  we  came  to  the  great  cliff 
where  the  south  side  of  the  big  moun 
tain  is  broken  sheer  off  and  is  only  a 


184          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

smooth  wall  of  rock  four  thousand  feet 
high. 

Flat  down  on  our  stomachs,  with  the 
packs  and  guns  left  behind,  we  crept  right 
to  the  edge  and  enjoyed  the  prospect  that 
flattened  away  below  like  a  play  world  in 
a  sand  heap. 

"Gee!"  said  the  boy;  "this  makes  uh 
feller  feel  creepy  'n'  sort  o'  funny  all  over, 
like  he's  goin'  to  juss  tumble  head-fo'most 
away  down  there  ont'  them  rocks  'n'  trees 
'n'  things,  don't  it?  Looky  there!  There's 
uh  big  bird,  uh  neagle,  ain't  it,  sailin' 
'long,  'way  down  there,  'bout  half  way  to 
th'  ground!  Gee!  don't  it  look  funny  to 
see  uh  bird  a-flyin'  'long  'n'  us  a-lookin' 
at  his  back  »stid  o'  his  breas'?  That's  th' 
first  time  I  ever  see  anything  like  that." 

"Lay  still,"  I  answered,  "I'm  going  to 
roll  a  big  rock  or  two  over  the  cliff — you 
watch  them  and  see  what  happens  when 
they  strike  the  ground." 

Then  I  scrambled  back  up  and  started  a 
big  boulder  to  rolling  out  and  over  the 
cliff  edge — then  another. 


UP  KARA  MOUNTAIN        185 

Both  slipped  over  the  edge  and  no  sound 
came  back  as  they  plunged  downward  into 


"Gee!  they're  a  long  time  fallin',"  said 
the  youngster. 

"There's  th'  first  one— 'n'  there's  th' 
other !  Gee !  They  're  knockin'  trees  down 
like  pipestems — juss  jumpin'  'n'  rollin' 
like  er  couple  o'  cannon  balls !  Gee !  but 
they're  smashin' — there!  one  of  'em's 
busted  all  to  smash  agin'  'nother  big  rock 
'n'  they's  uh  sort  o'  smoky  lookin'  place, 
'n  th'  air  like  ye'd  fired  uh  gun." 

All  this  was  a  strange,  new  experience 
for  the  boy,  and  I  smiled  as  I  thought 
how  I  had  long  ago  enjoyed  the  same 
"creepy"  feeling  that  the  boy  described 
and  watched  big  rocks  crash  down  among 
the  pines  in  the  Uintah  range,  far  beyond 
the  Western  horizon  from  our  present  perch 
on  Kara's  side. 

"Come  on,  lad,"  I  said:  "we  can't  lose 
much  time  if  we  make  the  peak  and  back 
to  camp  before  night.  The  trail  from 
here  on  is  smooth  and  easy,  but  it  is  long, 


186         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

so  if  you  want  to  look  at  the  rest  of  the 
world  to-day  we  must  be  going." 

Presently  we  were  traveling  the  u  hog 
back,"  where  the  trail  was  all  the  flat 
ground  there  was,  and  on  both  sides  the 
montain  fell,  steep  and  tree-covered,  away 
to  the  lower  world. 

Above  us  were  the  jumpers  clinging 
downward  from  the  great  mass  of  creviced 
rocks  that  formed  the  peak. 

The  boy  had  a  volume  of  comment  and 
questions  for  me  to  listen  to  as  we  pulled 
ourselves  up  over  these  last  obstructions 
and  then  stood  on  the  top  of  the  world, 
panting  for  breath  but  safe  and  glad  that 
we  were  there. 

When  our  pulses  were  normal  and  we 
breathed  naturally  again,  the  boy  began: 

"What's  that  sort  o'  uh  cloud  'way  off 
over  there?" 

"Mountains.  Probably  some  of  the 
main  chain  of  the  Rockies;  perhaps 
one  of  the  high  peaks  in  northern 
Colorado.  This  range  over  here  to  the 
northwest  is  the  Big  Horn  chain  away 


UP  KARA  MOUNTAIN         18? 

west  of  Powder  Kiver,  where  Ouster  was 
killed. 

"That  queer  pile  to  the  north  there  is 
Devil's  Tower,  just  a  strange  freak  of 
nature  that  has  forced  that  pile  of  basalt 
up  into  the  air  and  left  it.  Inyan  Kara  is 
formed  of  the  same  kind  of  rock.  This 
little  mountain  all  alone  here  to  the  north 
is  Sundance  Mountain,  where  the  Sioux 
Indians  hold  their  sun  dances.  These  to 
the  east  and  northeast  are  the  Black  Hills, 
each  little  chain  having  a  name  of  its  own. 
The  nearest  range  is  called  Black  Buttes ; 
that's  the  Bearlodge  Eange  just  north  of 
Sundance  and  that  one  away  off  to  the 
east,  the  one  that  only  shows  its  top,  is 
Ouster's  Peak." 

"Gee,  but  they's  lots  of  'em,  ain't  they?" 
said  the  boy.  "Say,  I'm  hungry,  less  eat. " 

His  last  remark  brought  a  hearty  laugh 
from  me,  and  the  old  mountain  top  rung 
with  more  hilarity  perhaps  than  had 
broken  the  silence  of  the  upper  regions  of 
the  world  for  many  days.  It  struck  me 
as  a  laughable  thing  when  the  boy  abruptly 


188          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

mixed  the  grandeur  of  the  view  with  the 
very  material  and  commonplace  idea  of 
hunger.  At  any  rate  the  lunch  was  pro 
duced  and  the  youngster  did  ample  justice 
to  the  cold  venison  and  hard  biscuits  that 
we  had  carried  all  the  way  up  in  our  pack 
sacks. 

"Gee,  I'm  thirsty  'a  uh  fish,"  was  his 
next  remark.  "Where'll  uh  feller  git  uh 
drink?" 

4 'Well,  I  guess  we  are  a  good  way  above 
the  nearest  running  water.  You  didn't 
think  that  you'd  go  so  high  that  there 'd 
be  no  place  for  the  water  to  run  down 
from,  did  you,  when  you  left  camp?" 

The  boy  looked  blank. 

"I  never  thought  o'  that,"  he  said. 

"No,  I  know  you  didn't;  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Go  'ithout,  I  reckon,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  you  see  you  won't  have  to  this 
time,  my  boy,  because  a  good  fairy  told  me 
there  was  no  water  up  here,  and  I  just  put 
a  canteen  full  into  my  pack  for  fear  we 
might  need  it." 


UP  KARA  MOUNTAIN        189 

"Gee,  but  that's  good  fer  sure,"  he 
answered  with  a  grin,  as  he  passed  the 
canteen  back  after  he  had  absorbed  one- 
third  of  its  contents. 

"Now,"  I  said,  "let  me  tell  you  a  few 
things  that  may  be  useful  to  you  some 
time.  Always  remember  that  the  peak  of 
a  mountain,  unless  it  is  a  snow  mountain 
or  unless  it  is  early  in  the  season,  is  just 
about  the  dryest  place  you  can  find  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  and  don't  go  up  for  any 
length  of  time  unless  you  carry  at  least 
some  water  with  you.  Next,  never  drink 
very  much  at  once  up  here,  because  it 
makes  you  unsteady  on  your  feet  if  you 
climb  in  any  of  the  bad  places  you  are 
more  than  apt  to  find  along  the  trail. 
Don't  eat  much,  for  the  same  reason.  You 
can  get  along  very  well  on  a  mouthful  or 
two  of  water  at  once,  and  just  enough  to 
eat  to  keep  from  feeling  hungry  is 
far  better  than  a  full  meal  in  this 
high  country.  Then,  you  can  travel 
better,  are  steadier  and  surer  footed. 
Wait  until  you  get  lower  down  to  eat  or 


190          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

drink  much  and  yon  will  get  along  all 
right." 

"  Reckon  I  won't  for  git  that — not  after 
this  here  lesson  sure,"  said  the  boy.  He 
was  a  regular  sponge  when  it  came  to  just 
simply  soaking  up  lore  of  the  wilderness, 
and  I  knew  would  need  no  second  prompt 
ing. 

"You  see  where  the  sun  is,  don't  you?" 
I  asked,  after  we  had  sojourned  for  some 
time  in  the  upper  country.  "We  had 
better  be  going  if  we  are  to  get  back  to 
camp.  This  is  not  a  pleasant  place  to  be 
after  the  sun  gets  down,  for  it  gets  pretty 
cold  and  does  it  very  quickly,  so  let's  go. 

"Here — not  that  way — we'll  go  down  the 
cliff.  That  is  why  I  brought  the  ropes. 
Give  me  yours  and  we  will  knot  them 
together  in  the  loop  ends,  then  we  can 
double  them  around  a  tree  trunk  or  pointed 
rock  and  slide  down  some  pretty  steep 
ground  with  safety." 

The  boy  looked  on  while  I  explained  this 
method  of  mountain  travel,  and  then  we 
started  down  the  almost  straight  northern 


UP  KARA  MOUNTAIN        191 

side  of  the  great  hill,  rather  than  to  take 
the  time  to  retrace  our  steps  over  the  long 
trail  that  wound  up  from  below,  follow 
ing  the  great  ridge  of  rock,  which  twists 
half-way  around  the  peak  just  like  the 
thread  of  a  screw  and  gives  the  mountain 
its  name. 

"Roping"  is  a  fast  way  of  traveling 
down  hill,  and  in  an  hour  we  had  slid, 
clinging  like  flies,  from  the  peak  down 
ward  until  we  stood  among  the  nervous, 
quaking  aspen  trees  that  grew  in  the  bowl- 
like  head  of  a  little  canyon.  Down  this 
cleft  we  traveled  easily,  and  came  out  into 
the  little  glade  where  the  grass  grew  and 
our  transient  home  had  been  left  early  in 
the  morning. 

"Gee,  it  don't  look  like  it  was  uh  day's 
travel  to  go  up  there  'n  back,  does  it?" 
asked  the  boy,  as  he  watched  the  blinking 
stars  come  out  one  by  one  and  hang  glitter 
ing  in  the  blue-black  dome  above  old  Inyan 
Kara,  the  pile  that  had  been  named  by 
the  Sioux  in  the  name  of  "a  mountain 
within  a  mountain." 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT  COUN 
TRY 

INYAN  KARA  seemed  just  as  near  as  it 
had  been  when  the  boy  watched  the  sun 
gleam  first  on  its  top  early  in  the  morning, 
away  down  by  the  spring  where  we  camped 
at  the  foot  of  the  pine  ridge. 

The  only  difference  was  that  the  deep 
blue  seemed  to  have  faded  out  of  the  side 
of  the  old  mountain  and  left  it  a  lighter, 
smoky,  indistinct  bulk  that  was  a  little 
lower  down  on  the  horizon. 

"  Seems  'sough  that  hill  don't  git  much 
furder  off  no  matter  how  much  we  travel," 
said  the  youngster.  "Here  we  bin  goin' 
uh  day  'n'  uh  haff,  V  there's  th'  ole 
mountain  juss  like't  was  when  we  started, 
on'y  yeh  can't  see  none  o'  th'  hol 
lers  on  th'  side  of  ut  like  yeh  kin 
when  yer  clost  up — 'n'en  it  don't  set  s' 
high's  ut  did.  Eeckon  that's  cos  we're 
gittin'  kind  o'  over  th'  bend  o'  th' 
193 


194         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

world  like,  V  yeh  can't  see  'round  th' 
curve." 

"You  guessed  the  reason  exactly,"  I 
answered.  "By  and  by  you  will  only  see 
the  top  of  it  and  that  will  look  like  a  bit 
of  cloud  right  on  the  horizon,  and  then 
when  the  sun  sets  you  will  see  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow  reflected  from  those 
old  rocks  where  we  ate  our  lunch  the  other 
day." 

"Th'  Bearlodge  Range  ain't  th'  same 
color  's  Kara  is.  What's  'er  reason  o' 
that?"  asked  the  boy. 

"They  are  timbered  clear  to  the  tops, 
and  are  not  as  high  as  Kara.  Timber 
always  looks  more  or  less  blue  in  the  dis 
tance — sometimes  even  indigo  blue  when 
the  light  is  right.  There  is  no  reflected 
light,  just  the  blue  always,  sometimes  one 
shade,  sometimes  another,  but  always  blue. 
Remember  that  in  this  part  of  the  world, 
too,  for  it  may  be  valuable  when  the  cold 
northwest  winds  come  down  over  this 
country  and  you  need  wood  for  a  camp." 

"Aw  right;  I  won't  fur  git." 


ACROSS  DESERT  COUNTRY    195 

We  are  driving  across  the  desolate 
country  between  the  Black  Hills  and  the 
Big  Horn  Range— a  country  that  is  baked 
and  dry  at  all  seasons  except  just  while 
the  winter  snows  are  melting,  and  even 
then  there  is  no  water  except  a  pool  here 
and  there  in  the  dry  bed  of  a  long-ago 
creek. 

Just  now  the  weather  was  very  warm  for 
early  summer,  and  the  gray  ground  re 
flected  the  heat  until  the  air  was  aquiver 
with  it.  A  few  stray  flowers  still  strug 
gled  to  bloom  against  the  drouth,  but  they 
were  stunted  and  undersized,  and  their 
colors  lacked  the  brilliant  hues  of  their 
kind  that  had  come  and  gone  with  the 
meager  moisture  of  the  melted  snow  banks. 
Here  and  there  the  purple  lake  petals  of 
the  pincushion  cactus  made  a  spot  of  color 
in  this  gray  desert — a  few  gaudy  prickly 
pear  flowers  perched  with  half-closed 
leaves  on  the  upper  rim  of  one  of  the 
green  pads,  in  close  company  with  a  tiny 
striped  lizard,  perhaps,  for  these  little 
creatures  basked  in  the  sunlight  or  flitted 


196         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

across  the  barren,  hot  ground  as  the  mood 
seized  them.  Mostly  it  was  gray  desert 
covered  with  grayer  sage  brush  in  the 
valleys  and  low  places,  and  with  rocks  of 
a  hundred  hues  to  crest  the  hills  or  pile  in 
picturesque  abandon  downward  into  the 
valleys. 

4 'What's  that?  Looks  like  uh  town  er 
sompin'  way  off  there?"  said  the  boy. 

"Bad  Lands.  What  you  see  here  is  the 
south  edge  of  them,  and  it  is  a  wrecked 
country  from  there  clear  up  to  the  Mis 
souri  River,  a  good  many  miles  to  the 
north.  That  country  is  worse  than  this, 
for  it  is  loaded  with  alkali,  and  has  not 
even  sage  brush  or  grass  to  cover  its  naked 
ness.  It  is  the  bottom  of  an  ancient  lake, 
cut  and  gashed  by  erosion  until  it  is  now 
nothing  but  a  country  of  a  thousand  hills, 
each  hill  with  a  flat  top  and  built  up  of 
many-colored  strata.  There  are  no  good 
springs  there— all  are  thick  with  alkali. 
There  is  fire  clay,  coal,  ashes,  clay,  sand 
stone,  fossil  monsters  and  petrified  things 
up  there  till  you  want  no  more.  It  is  a 


ACROSS  DESERT  COUNTRY  197 

country  of  ruin,  silence  and  death,  my 
boy,  and  have  a  care  that  you  do  not  stray 
far  among  those  flat -topped  buttes,  for  each 
one  looks  like  each  other  one  until  you  are 
puzzled  and  lose  your  way,  then — well, 
there  are  many  bones  in  there,  and 
yours  would  not  be  noticed  by  a  passer- 
by." 

"Gee!  that  must  be  a'  nawfull  sort  o' 
uh  place  'f  that's  th'  case,  but  I'd  like  to 
get  up  clost  'n'  have  uh  look  at  'em  any 
way,"  said  the  youngster. 

1  'We  will  cross  a  spur  of  that  country 
soon,  and  you  will  get  all  you  want  of  it 
then." 

"Whoa!  Wait  uh  minit— they's  uh 
whopper  of  uh  rattlesnake  right  b'hind 
that  rock,  all  curled  up  'n  th'  sun.  I 
want  his  skin."  The  boy  had  tumbled 
out  of  the  seat  and  was  running  back  on 
the  trail  as  he  spoke. 

In  a  moment  more  he  had  picked  up  a 
fragment  of  a  rock  and  battered  the  life 
out  of  a  six-foot  "diamond  back"  rattle 
snake.  Then  he  pulled  out  his  pocket- 


198          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

knife,  put  his  foot  on  the  snake's  neck  and 
after  cutting  the  skin  clear  around  the 
reptile's  neck  he  skinned  the  squirming 
body  despite  the  muscular  contortions  and 
the  singing  rattles. 

4 'Ain't  it  uh  daisy?"  he  asked,  as  he 
came  complacently  back  with  the  yellow- 
marked  pelt  dangling  across  his  arm. 
"Goin'  t'  make  uh  hat  band  o'  that  feller's 
jacket — one,  two,  five,  nine,  eighteen 
rattles — good  string,  ain't  it?  Well,  ole 
feller,  you  won't  never  bite  anybudy  else, 
that's  one  sure  thing,  an'  yer  hide'll  do 
me  juss  's  much  good  er  more  'n'  it  would 
do  you,  anyhow,  cos  you'd  uh  shedded  it 
anyway,  V  'sides,  uh  feller  'd  ought  to 
kill  uh  rattlesnake  ever 'time  he  sees  one, 
juss  same's  he  would  uh  kiote  er  any  other 
varmint  ut's  dang'rus  'n'  no  good." 

He  certainly  had  the  Western  idea  about 
rattlesnakes,  for  no  man  who  has  dwelled 
in  the  grassland  or  ridden  the  range  will 
pass  by  one  of  these  dangerous  snakes — 
cow  men  especially  will  always  stop  and  kill 
them  on  sight,  using  the  "hondu"  or  the 


ACROSS  DESERT  COUNTRY  199 

swivel  end  of  their  picket  line  for  the  pur 
pose,  or  even  just  a  loop  of  rope. 

All  through  the  hot  afternoon  we  drove 
on  across  the  gray  desert,  passing  by  the 
horned  toads,  the  lizards  and  the  cactus, 
until  we  were  near  the  Belle  Fourche 
Eiver,  in  time  for  the  night's  camp. 

"What's  that  white  stuff  over  there; 
'tain't  alkili,  is  it?  Seems  too  kind  o' 
yellow,"  said  the  boy. 

4 'Soap,  natural  soap,"  I  answered. 
"That  is  something  of  a  curiosity  even  in 
this  country  of  strange  things.  It  is 
actual  soap,  too,  all  right,  and  it  is  really 
a  spring  of  soft  soap  coming  out  of  the 
ground.  You  see  the  whole  country  here 
is  loaded  with  alkali — to  the  west  there  is 
coal.  Bed  rock  slopes  toward  the  Black 
Hills,  and  in  the  lower  country  here  along 
Wild  Horse  Creek  and  the  Willow  there 
are  some  oil  springs,  where  crude  petro 
leum  comes  up  out  of  the  ground.  In 
some  instances  the  alkali  and  oil  meet  in 
about  the  right  proportion,  and  you  have 
one  of  these  'soap  beds,'  as  the  cattle  men 


200          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

call  them.  They  are  dry  on  top,  but  soft 
under  the  crust,  and  cattle  that  try  to 
cross  them  break  through  and  sink  into 
the  mass  of  soap  underneath  and  never  get 
out.  That  is  the  reason  the  cattlemen 
have  begun  to  fence  these  treacherous 
places.  -You  see  they  look  like  dried-up 
springs,  and  the  cattle  come  to  them  in 
the  hot  weather  looking  for  water,  and 
down  they  go.  Nobody  knows  how  deep 
they  are,  but  you  can  push  a  good  many 
ten -foot  poles  down,  one  on  top  of  the 
other,  and  when  you  are  tired  out  some 
other  fellow  can  push  just  as  many  more 
down  on  top  of  them." 

"Gee,  I  don't  want  much  to  do  with 
that  kind  o'  uh  mess.  Do  they  all  look 
sort  o'  white  'n'  crumbly  on  top  like  this 
one?" 

"Mostly;  some  are  more  so,  some  are 
less,  but  the  character  is  the  same.  Keep 
away  from  the  edge  of  them  even,  if  you 
expect  to  be  safe. ' ' 

"Won't  ketch  me  foolin'  round  no  sich 
uh  trap  's  that  is,  you  bet,"  said  the  boy. 


ACROSS  DESERT  COUNTRY  201 

"Hoi'  on,  gimme  th'  gun — saw  uh  kiote 
juss  sneak  over  that  point  down  there — 
'm  goin'  after  him."  Away  he  raced  up 
to  the  top  of  the  next  ridge  like  an  Indian, 
and  stood  among  the  rocks  waiting.  The 
coyote,  with  characteristic  cunning,  had 
vanished,  and  the  lad  could  not  get  a  shot. 

Coming  back,  he  stopped  every  few  feet 
and  picked  up  something  from  the  ground, 
so  that  when  he  arrived  at  the  wagon  once 
more  he  was  loaded  down  with  a  hatful  of 
rocks. 

"Got  some  pet-ree-fide  wood,  'n'  things, 
anyhow,"  he  remarked,  as  he  climbed  back 
on  the  seat. 

In  his  collection  there  were  fossil  shells, 
petrified  eels,  wood,  bone  and  other  sub 
stances,  turned  to  stone,  and  there  were 
also  some  fine  moss  agates  and  carnelians, 
all  gathered  within  a  few  yards  of  space, 
and  there  were  tons  of  them  left  littering 
the  ground  for  a  long  distance. 

These  things  kept  him  interested  while 
I  drove  down  the  long  slope  of  hillside  to 
the  valley  of  the  Belle  Fouche  and  brought 


202          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

the  outfit  to  a  stop  on  the  banks,  where  a 
bit  of  open  glade  stretched  along  among 
the  switch  willow  brakes,  and  a  few  cotton- 
wood  trees  offered  dead  wood  for  our 
camp-fire. 

There  was  a  pool  there  in  the  river  I 
knew,  and  it  was  all  the  water  we  could 
get,  though  it  was  red  with  alkali,  and  the 
rim  of  the  pond-like  place  was  white  with 
a  frost-work  of  crystals  all  around  it.  Yet 
it  was  this  or  nothing.  Ere  the  sun  van 
ished  our  camp  was  made,  the  horses 
picketed  and  our  fire  going  merrily.  The 
coffee  pot  bubbled  and  hissed  and  the  alkali 
water  foamed  inside,  but  we  made  good 
coffee  just  the  same,  because  we  put  a  few 
crystals  of  acetic  acid  in  with  the  coffee  to 
kill  the  alkali. 


•LORE  OF  THE  TRAIL 

4 'SAY,  is  all  this  country  juss  desert  like 
it  is  here?"  asked  the  boy,  as  he  helped 
himself  to  his  second  cup  of  black  coffee 
the  next  morning. 

"Pretty  much  the  same  from  here  clear 
over  to  the  Big  Horn  Mountains,  then  it 
changes  to  rough,  mountain  country,  with 
plenty  of  good  water,  grass  and  timber  in 
spots,  until  you  get  across  into  Idaho, 
then  it  is  lava  and  sand  and  sage  brush, 
and  a  little  grass  mixed  in  until  the  Cas 
cade  country  begins,  just  across  the  Colum 
bia  Eiver.  Over  on  the  Pacific  side  of 
that  range  it  is  hills  and  timber  clear  to 
the  ocean." 

"Gee!  That's  where  I'd  like  to  go! 
Seems  s'ough  this  old  desert  is  too  much 
alike — all  cactus  'n'  horn  toads  'n'  things 
'tull  uh  feller  gits  plumb  tired  of  'em. 
'N'en  th'  water  up  here's  purt-near  worsen 
whisky — guess  that's  why  s'  many  fellers 
203 


204          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

drinks  whisky  here  too.  Ain't  no  fishin', 
I  reckon,  in  uh  thousan'  milo  o'  country 
like  this  nuther.  What's  suh  use  o'  such 
country,  anyhow?" 

"Don't  you  see  the  cattle  all  around 
you?  That's  use,  isn't  it?  The  beef  for 
half  the  country  comes  from  these  very 
hills,  my  boy,  in  spite  of  all  this  desert 
and  desolation.  There  are  men  who  live 
out  their  lives  among  these  buttes  and 
coulees,  and  fight  the  desert,  the  Indians, 
the  varmints,  water,  rattlesnakes,  heat  and 
all — just  to  see  that  you  have  beef  and 
plenty  of  it  down  in  the  States. 

"There  are  thousands  of  wild  things  up 
here  too;  deer,  antelope,  bear,  wolves  and 
a  host  more  that  furnish  meat,  pelts  or 
sport  too ." 

"We  hain't  seen  but  mighty  few  of  'em. 
Where  do  they  range  anyhow?  Seem's 
like  we'd  dought  to  seen  somp'n  moren 
kiotes  in  all  the  country  we've  been 
travelin',  if  they're  so  plenty." 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  we  are  not 
hunting,  for  the  season  is  not  right,  and 


LORE  OF  THE  TRAIL         205 

in  the  next  place,  we  have  been  following 
the  trail.  These  wild  things  keep  back 
in  the  hills  and  don't  cross  as  plain  a  trail 
as  we  have  been  following  unless  they 
shift  their  feeding  places.  Do  you  see 
that  blue  line  of  hills  off  to  the  west  there? 
That  is  the  divide  between  this  river  and 
the  Powder,  and  it  is  a  rough  bit  of  coun 
try  too— full  of  gulches  and  cedar  patches, 
and  with  some  pretty  good  springs  scat 
tered  here  and  there  through  it,  and  it  is 
a  game  country.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  don't  mind  doing.  We  can  drive  up  to 
Ward's  ranch  and  visit  Ike  and  Phil  this 
evening,  and  then  if  they  happen  to  be 
out  of  meat  we  can  all  go  hunting  up 
Mount  Zahn  way  to-morrow,  and  get  a 
blacktail  buck  for  a  change  of  grub.  Mind 
you,  no  does,  and  not  more  than  one 
buck,  even  if  we  see  a  dozen.  Anything 
else  besides  deer  and  antelope  you  can  call 
game  unless  we  run  into  a  bunch  of  elk  or 
a  stray  buffalo  or  sheep — these  we  will  let 
go,  even  if  we  get  no  deer — understand?" 
"Uh-huh,  I  savie.  Think  we  kin  git 


206          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

uh  deer,  do  yeh?  Gee,  but  I'd  like  to  git 
uh  crack  at  a  nold  buck  with  uh  set  o' 
horns  like  uh  plum  thicket !  Wouldn't  I, 
though?" 

"Well,  you  can  have  the  chance,  for  I 
think  I  can  just  about  put  my  finger  on 
several  unless  the  Indians  have  been  raid 
ing  down  through  here  or  something  else 
happened  to  drive  the  deer  out.  I  know 
their  runways  up  there  all  over  that  coun 
try,  and  I  can  find  a  buck  without  much 
trouble,  I  guess. 

"Now,  let's  hook  up  and  get  to  Ward's, 
for  the  sun  is  getting  up,  and  it  is  a  big 
twenty  miles  from  here  to  that  line  of  hills 
and  Ward's  cabin  ia  in  the  flat  just  this 
side  of  the  hills." 

Soon  our  outfit  wended  its  crooked  way 
across  the  desolate  landscape  that  basked 
in  the  first  rays  of  the  early  sun. 

It  was  still  cool  and  delightful  and  the 
boy  was  all  animation  and  chatter  as  we 
went  along,  following  the  gray  thread  of  a 
trail  that  wandered  up  and  down,  twisting 
back  against  the  bluffs  to  cross  some  little 


LORE  OF  THE  TRAIL          207 

canyon,  then  curving  back  toward  Donkey 
Creek  again  as  though  it  was  afraid  to  lose 
sight  of  that  miserable  little  excuse  for  a 
water-course. 

There  is  always  a  companionship  some 
way  about  a  stream  and  a  trail,  and  they 
keep  close  company  wherever  they  can  in 
the  wilderness,  be  it  desert,  woods  or 
mountains. 

4 'What's  all  them  rocks  'n  uh  circle 
that  way  for?"  suddenly  asked  the  young 
ster,  as  he  noted  them  beside  the  trail. 

"Teepee  rings,"  I  answered.  "What 
you  see  there  is  a  sign,  a  record,  of  a  past 
camp,  where  some  Indians  have  pitched 
their  teepee — probably  for  a  few  days, 
while  hunting  or  just  traveling.  The 
rocks  were  piled  around  the  lower  edge  of 
the  teepee  skins — the  tent  walls,  you 
know — and  when  the  teepee  was  taken 
down  the  rocks  were  simply  rolled  off  the 
edge  of  the  skins,  so  they  remained  in  a 
circle,  just  as  the  squaws  left  them  when 
they  folded  up  their  house  and  vanished. 
See,  there  are  more  of  them  over  there, 


208          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

too — there  has  been  a  hunting  party  here 
in  all  probability,  but  it  was  a  year  or  over 
ago,  for  you  see  the  grass  has  grown  up 
against  the  rocks  and  browned  there,  and 
there  is  new  grass  growing  around  them 
again." 

"That's  th'  way  they  do  up  here,  huh? 
Don't  use  no  tent  pins — juss  roll  rocks 
onto  th'  bottom  o'  th'  tent  'n'  hole  it 
down  that  way?  Well,  that  ain't  uh  bad 
idee  nuther,  'n'  uh  feller  will  find  out 
things  as  he  goes  along,  won't  he? 

"What's  them  white  spots  'way  over  'n 
that  flat  crost  th'  creek?" 

"Antelope.  Take  the  glass  and  count 
them." 

"Gee,  they's  uh  whole  bunch  of  'em, 
'bout  forty  er  fifty,  I  reckon — 'n'  they's 
uh  lot  more  'way  on  up — 'n'  more  on  th' 
side  o'  th'  hill!  Gee!  They's  uh  whole 
herd  of  'em!  Lot  o'  big  bucks  'mongst 
'em,  too — I  kin  see  their  horns — little 
black  shiny  ones  'at  curl  back  'n'  end  in 
uh  kind  o'  a  hook,  'n'en  they's  a  little 
prong,  looks  like,  juss  above  'ur  eye. 


LORE  OF  THE  TRAIL         209 

Gee,  they  are  purty,  ain't  they?  Less  git 
one  o'  them  bucks." 

"Do  you  want  to  shoot  one  of  them  or 
wait  for  a  black-tail  buck  in  the  morning?" 

The  boy  looked  through  the  glass  again ; 
then  heaved  a  big  sigh.  "Guess  I'd 
druther  wait — but  they's  a  mighty  big 
buck  in  that  bunch,"  he  said. 

A  few  moments  later  we  drove  in  between 
the  hills  and  lost  sight  of  the  bunch  of 
antelope,  so  the  boy  had  to  hunt  some 
thing  else  to  interest  him. 

He  asked  about  the  big  slag  boulders 
that  littered  the  country,  and  had  to  hear 
the  whole  geology  of  the  edge  of  the  bad 
lands  before  he  was  satisfied ;  then  it  was 
points  on  the  poison  of  the  centipede  that 
interested  him ;  then  prairie  dogs  came 
into  the  conversation,  and  he  freely  ex 
pressed  his  contempt  for  the  theory  that 
they  did  without  water  and  lived  pleasantly 
in  company  with  owls  and  rattlesnakes. 

"Ain't  I  killed  more'n  one  ole  rattler 
with  uh  belly  full  o'  young  prairie  dogs? 
You  bet,  I  have,  'n'  nobody  wants  to  tell 


210          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

me  'at  dogs  lives  right  'long  'n  th'  same 
holes  'ith  snakes — I  know  better.  Th' 
rattler  ain't  doin'  nothin'  but  huntin' 
pups  when  he  calls  on  uh  fambly  o'  dogs, 
'n'en  when  he's  et  up  all  he  kin  s  waller 
comf  table  he  crawls  out  'n  th'  sun  'n' 
goes  tu  sleep  fer  true,  'n'en's  when  I  git 
him." 

While  he  was  dilating  on  the  subject  of 
prairie  dogs  we  drove  out  from  the  hills 
and  began  to  cross  the  last  flat  before 
reaching  Ward's  place,  and  by  two  o'clock 
we  had  hailed  those  worthy  brothers  and 
introduced  each  other  there  on  the  hot 
desert. 

Our  team  was  soon  taken  care  of,  and 
we  enjoyed  our  first  meal  that  was  cooked 
over  a  stove  for  many  days  when  we  sat 
down  in  the  rough  cabin  so  far  from  people 
and  things. 

After  dinner  our  pipes  were  lit  and  we 
sprawled  at  length  across  some  buffalo 
robes  flung  on  the  ground  where  the 
shadow  fell  north  of  the  cabin,  and  there 
we  talked  the  lore  of  the  desert  and 


LORE  OF  THE  TRAIL 


planned  to  kill  a  big  buck  on  the  morrow, 
for  we  were  a  healthy  company,  with  a 
longing  for  the  juicy  steaks  of  venison. 

"Reckon  we'd  best  go  too-woard  th'  red 
buttes  north  o'  hyer  airly  'n  th'  mornin', 
C'manch,"  said  big  Ike  Ward,  as  he 
looked  up  into  the  sky  from  his  point  of 
vantage  on  the  flat  of  his  back  across  the 
big  buffalo  robe. 

The  blue  smoke  wound  upward  from  his 
black  pipe,  his  long  hair  curled  about  his 
square  features,  and  one  leg  rocked  up  and 
down  across  the  other  bent  knee  as  Ike 
unfolded  the  plan  for  to-morrow,  a  plan 
that  meant  the  ending  of  the  days  for  one 
big  buck,  for  Ike  was  a  man  who  took  one, 
or  not  more  than  two  cartridges  when  he 
went  after  deer,  and  he  always  got  meat, 
too. 

I've  seen  him  shoot,  and  it  is  a  nice  bit 
of  action  —  just  as  cool  and  easy  as  though 
his  target  was  as  big  as  a  house  and  stand 
ing  still,  instead  of  a  blue  buck  no  bigger 
than  your  hand,  bouncing  across  a  rough 
hillside  five  hundred  yards  away  —  just 


212          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

bouncing  like  a  blue  rubber  ball  for  a  few 
moments,  then  when  the  gun  spat  it  lead 
and  the  dust  flew  against  the  hillside,  the 
buck  fell  headlong,  and  did  not  rise. 
Then  Ike  would  wipe  the  smoke  out  of  the 
barrel  and  take  a  fresh  nip  of  tobacco  and 
go  to  the  buck.  That  was  the  man  who 
outlined  the  way  that  the  buck  was  to  die 
to-morrow. 

"Ef  we  don't  ketch  one  clost  to  th' 
spring,  we'll  hunt  into  them  cedar  canyons 
where  th'  lion  like  to  fetched  Phil  th' 
time  he  got  th'  bull  elk  up  there;  reckon 
we  cain't  miss  a-gittin'  one  in  thar  shore 
— 'n'  git  back  'fore  it  gits  hot,  too." 

And  so  it  was  planned. 

"How  was  it  about  Phil  and  the  lion, 
Ike?"  I  asked. 

"Ast  Phil,"  chuckled  big  Ike.  But 
that  is  another  story. 


A  TRIP  WITH  THE  WARD  BOYS 

THEKE  was  a  new,  clean  smell  in  the  air 
when  we  left  Ward's  cabin  under  the 
snappy  stars,  and  there  was  that  peculiar 
stillness  which  comes  into  the  night  just 
before  the  gray  of  dawn.  So  it  was  a 
silent  cavalcade  of  dim  forms,  conversing 
but  little,  and  that  little  in  very  low 
tones,  as  we  rode  toward  the  dim,  dark 
bulk  across  the  northern  sky  which  I  knew 
to  be  the  red  buttes  where  the  Bad 
Lands  came  down  and  ended  against  the 
plain. 

In  due  time  we  reached  a  spot  where  a 
few  scraggly  cedars  grew,  and  tied  our 
horses  there,  going  on  afoot  to  the  hillside 
above  the  spring,  where  Ward  thought  we 
should  get  a  deer  without  much  trouble, 
when  they  came  down  to  drink  about  day 
light.  Objects  were  still  only  dim  blots  in 
the  general  scheme  of  darkness  when  we 
four  settled  down  among  the  rocks  and 
213 


214          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

began  our  watch  that  was  to  end  in  kill 
ing  a  big  buck. 

If  any  one  spoke  now  it  was  in  a  whisper 
and  the  comfort  of  a  pipe  was  out  of  the 
question,  for  game  can  scent  tobacco  smoke 
a  good  bit  further  than  they  can  the  men 
who  make  it. 

Ike  had  picked  a  special  point  of  vantage 
for  the  boy,  and  had  taken  him  under  his 
special  care,  to  be  initiated  into  the  mys 
teries  of  big  game  shooting,  while  Phil  and 
I  sat  among  the  boulders  a  short  distance 
away,  talking  of  old  times. 

This  was  too  difficult  to  continue  in 
a  whispering  conversation  of  any  great 
length,  so  we  soon  became  mere  motion 
less,  but  watchful,  bits  of  the  landscape, 
and  remained  as  such  until  a  cheeping  call 
such  as  a  young  grouse  makes  turned  our 
eyes  toward  big  Ike. 

A  pantomime  followed,  in  which  Ike 
told  us  by  signs  that  three  deer  were 
advancing  toward  the  spring  below  us, 
though  objects  were  hardly  yet  more  than 
patches  of  darkness  in  the  gray  dawn, 


TRIP  WITH  WARD  BOYS     215 

which  had  now  snuffed  out  all  but  the 
morning  star.  Phil  and  I  soon  had  the 
deer  located  as  they  moved  against  a  patch 
of  quaking  asp,  and  then  saw  a  little  later 
that  there  was  a  very  small  buck  and  two 
does  in  company.  Again  Ike  chirped,  and 
again  there  was  a  pantomime,  which  said, 
"Let  them  go;  we  will  get  a  bigger  buck 
for  the  kid."  Slowly  the  deer  loitered 
along,  nipping  at  the  fresh  herbage,  look 
ing,  listening,  always  alert,  and  slowly 
advancing  toward  the  spring,  and  before 
the  sun  was  up  they  had  dipped  their 
pretty  noses  into  the  clear  water,  while  the 
four  of  us  watched  them  at  a  distance  of 
twenty  yards.  They  had  finished  drink 
ing  when  two  more,  a  doe  and  a  fawn, 
trotted  up,  took  a  late  drink  and  then  the 
whole  five  moved  down  into  the  canyons 
and  were  gone  when  the  sun  shot  his  first 
yellow  ray  across  the  world  and  tipped 
Mount  Zahn  with  gold. 

Then  Ike  unfolded  his  big  frame  and 
straightened  up  behind  the  rocks.  "Come 
on,  Kid;  ain't  no  use  monkeyin'  'round 


216          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

hyer  no  longer;  deer  don't  drink  arfter 
sunup,  an'  we'll  hafto  hunt  th'  gulches 
fer  yer  buck  now,"  he  said. 

1  'Which  way,  Ike?"  asked  Phil. 

**  Reckon  them  breaks  where  yer  lion 
like  tu  got  yeh  d 'ought  tu  pan  out — which 
way's  th'  wind? — alright,  guess  we'd  better 
git  in  yunder,"  he  said,  as  he  wet  one  fin 
ger  and  held  it  up  to  "feel  the  wind,"  an 
old  trick  of  the  wilderness,  by  the  way, 
and  one  that  always  shows  the  true  wind 
direction,  because  the  windward  side  of 
the  wet  finger  "gets  cold  quickest." 
Leaving  the  spring,  we  started  to  travel 
afoot  in  a  very  wide  circle  that  would  cut 
a  lot  of  very  rough  country,  and  end  at  the 
horses,  Ike  and  the  boy  traveling  together 
and  Phil  and  I  spreading  out  so  we  could 
cover  a  good  bit  of  ground  thoroughly. 

A  mile  had  been  reeled  off  when  I  heard 
the  grouse  call  again,  and  Phil  beckoned 
me  to  come.  Together  we  advanced 
toward  Ike,  being  guided  by  a  pantomime 
from  him  as  he  crouched  behind  a  big 
boulder  where  we  soon  arrived. 


T.RIP  WITH  WARD  BOYS     217 

"Nine  of  'em  'n  a  bunch;  Kid  see  'em 
fust,  'n'  they's  a  whalin'  big  buck  in 
amongst  'em.  Juss  gone  hit'  thet  patch  o' 
cedars  crost  th'  canyon, 'n'  I  reckon  they're 
headin'  fer  th'  no'th  side  o'  th'  hill  tu 
bed  down,"  Ike  explained. 

"Keckon  we'd  better  cut  'round  this  side 
'n'  head  'em  'bout  on  th'  ridge,  hadn't 
we?"  queried  Phil. 

"Juss  what  I  cal'lated.  Kid'd  ought 
tu  git  a  good  open  shot  thar,  'n'  he  kaint 
miss  handy,  fur  he'll  have  good  runnin' 
shots  if  they  break.  Less  move,  fur  they 
ain't  travelin'  slow." 

A  minute  later  we  were  moving  around 
and  up  the  hill  at  a  slow  trot,  and  soon 
had  brought  the  ridge  into  view,  but  the 
deer  were  not  in  sight. 

"See  'f  yeh  kin  locate  'em,  Phil,"  said 
Ike,  as  he  crouched  with  the  boy  and  me 
behind  the  boulders. 

Phil  left  his  gun  and  crawled  out  along 
the  side  hill,  carefully  scanning  the  hill 
side  as  it  came  into  view  below  the  ridge. 

Suddenly  he  reversed  his  movement  and 


218          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

came  rapidly  back  to  us.  "Comin'  right 
here  't  th'  fut  o'  th'  hill— big  buck  fust, 
'n'  not  forty  yards  away.  Git  ready,  Kid, 
yeh  got  a  shore  shot  this  time  V  he's  a 
whopper,  too,"  he  said. 

The  boy  poked  his  brown  rifle  barrel  for 
ward  over  the  rocks,  scraping  it  slightly  as 
he  did  so,  and  just  then  the  big  buck 
came  to  the  top  of  the  ridge  and  stopped 
stock  still,  looking  toward  the  morning  sun 
and  flapping  his  big  ears  forward. 

"Stidy,  kid,"  hissed  Ike  in  his  ear; 
"don't  yeh  pull  trigger  now  tull  yeh 
know  yeh  got  him,  fur  yeh  won't  git 
'nother  shot  at  'nother  buck  like  thet  'f 
yeh  live  tu  be  a  hundred  year  old.  Take 
yer  time — haff  way  up  his  shoul'er  'n' 
when  yeh  know  it  covers  him,  cut  'er 
loose,  but — "  Bang!  The  rest  of  Ike's 
instructions  were  lost  in  the  roar  of  the 
gun.  The  big  buck  doubled  up  like  a 
jackknife,  and  then  bounded,  or  rather 
plunged,  away  down  the  hill  with  the 
whole  bunch  at  his  heels  and  all  with  their 
"flags  flying,"  except  the  big  buck,  who 


TRIP  WITH  WARD  BOYS     219 

ran  low,  with  heavy,  plunging  leaps  and 
outstretched  neck. 

Instantly  the  boy  leveled  his  rifle  and 
the  lead  began  to  stream  after  the  buck, 
while  Ike  had  his  gun  with  the  sights  in 
line  with  the  fleeing  deer  as  a  safety 
measure. 

"Stidy,  kid,"  said  Phil;  "yeh  got  him 
hard  hit,  'n'  he  kaint  git  fur — no  use  o' 
schutin'  up  th'  meat." 

But  the  boy's  blood  was  up,  and  the 
rifle  barked  and  spat,  and  the  dust  clouds 
rose  about  the  buck  where  the  bullets 
struck,  until,  just  when  another  leap 
would  have  hid  him  among  the  cedars,  he 
plunged  down  in  a  heap  and  rolled  against 
a  boulder — still. 

The  two  other  deer  just  behind  him 
cleared  both  his  prostrate  form  and  the  big 
rock  at  a  single  bound  and  crashed  away 
among  the  blue  growth  of  stunted  trees 
which  waved  as  a  farewell  as  they  dis 
appeared. 

Then  the  boy  broke  loose  and  yelled  like 
a  young  Indian  on  his  first  warpath,  and 


220         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

the  way  he  bounded  down  that  rocky 
steep  would  have  done  credit  to  the  big 
blue  buck  himself. 

Ike  and  Phil  grinned  and  looked  at  me. 

"Kinder  gits  rattled  sum  when  it's  all 
over,  don't  he?"  said  Ike. 

"Mighty  stidy  headed  kid  while  th' 
fun's  goin'  on,"  said  Phil.  "I'se  watchin* 
his  gun,  too — wan't  a  sign  o'  shake  er 
fever  f'm  th'  time  he  fust  poked  it  acrost 
th'  rock  tull  th'  buck  went  down,  though 
he  shot  mighty  fast." 

"Only  the  way  he  always  shoots,"  I  an 
swered.  "I've  seen  him  kill  half  a  dozen 
young  prairie  chickens  in  about  as  many 
seconds  with  a  light  rifle,  while  they  crossed 
a  road,  and  it  was  about  dusk,  too." 

We  were  proceeding  slowly  down  toward 
the  boy  and  the  buck  as  we  spoke,  and  in 
a  moment  the  youngster  began : 

"Gee!  Hain't  he  uh  daisy!  Ain't 
that  uh  head  fur  yeh !  Reckon  I  didn't 
fix  him  plenty  er  nothin' — five  shots,  'n' 
three  of  'em  clean  thro'  him,  'n'  'nother'n 
juss  ketched  th'  side  o'  his  year  'n'  took  uh 


TRIP  WITH  WARD  BOYS     221 

chip  out  —  kaint  find  th'  other 'n  'tall; 
must  uh  missed,  I  reckon.  I  want  to 
keepthet  head,  C'manch',  'n'  take  it  back 
tu  th'  States — one,  two — nine  prongs. 
Gee,  he  must  be  uh  nold  feller!" 

' « Well,  Kid,  git  yer  knife  out,"  said 
Ike;  "yeh  might's  well  learn  tu  take  keer 
o'  yer  game  now  's  ary  other  time,  so  take 
holt — it's  gittin'  warm  a'ready,  'n'  we'd 
better  be  gittin'  too-woards  home." 

"I'll  git  th'  hosses  up,"  said  Phil  as  he 
started  off. 

Under  Ike's  directions  the  boy  proved 
himself  a  good  butcher,  and  soon  had  the 
quarters  un jointed  and  the  body  skinned 
out  of  the  deer,  and  yet  had  not  skinned 
the  quarters  and  legs  out  of  the  hide  at  all. 

"Pack  'em  a  heap  easier  thet  away," 
said  Ike.  "Say,  kid,  ain't  thet  a  purty 
big  hole  thar  fer  one  ball  to  make — lemme 
see  it  a  minnit — .  Yessir,  blamed  ef  he 
didn't  put  two  bullets  hit'  almost  th' 
same  place — see,  one  of  'em  juss  cut  a 
piece  out  'n'en  follered  right  in  th'  same 
place  where  th'  other  'n'  went.  Kid, 


222          JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

yeh  couldn't  do  it  ag'in  'n  a  thousand  year 
— barrin'  acksdunts." 

When  Phil  came  up  with  the  horses,  we 
packed  the  deer  on  one,  tied  the  head  on 
a  second,  and  the  tenderloins  were  rolled 
in  a  "slicker"  and  lashed  on  behind  the 
saddle  of  the  third.  Then  we  started 
back  for  the  ranch,  Ike  and  Phil  telling 
of  other  hunts  when  deer  had  not  been 
killed,  with  so  little  trouble ;  of  times  when 
a  buck  must  die  or  a  man  must  starve,  and 
only  a  cartridge  or  two  to  go  on;  times 
when  the  Sioux  got  restless  and  hunted 
the  hunter,  while  he  must  needs  hunt  and 
dodge  together.  They  were  interesting 
men,  those  two  sturdy  plainsmen  who 
lived  where  the  Bad  Lands  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  plains,  and  who  had  fought 
the  country,  the  storms,  the  Indians  and 
all,  and  were  still  alive  and  as  tough  as 
pine  knots  when  we  came  down  the  hill  in 
the  warming  day. 

"You  see  thet  feather  a-hangin'  over 
th'  bear  skull  down't  th'  house,  didn't  ye, 
Comanch?"  said  Phil.  "Wull,  right  up 


TRIP  WITH  WARD  BOYS     223 

ag'in  thet  boulder  over  yunder  's  where 
ole  Joe  Lay  Flee  bored  th'  Sioux  ut  wored 
ut — long  'n  seventy-four  er  five — 'n'  I  juss 
sauntered  up  yere  'n  got  th'  big  feather 
outen  his  war  bonnut  arfterwards — thet  is 
arfter  we'd  burried  Joe — pore  cuss,  they 
had  shot  him  full  o'  arrers,  'n'  he  pegged 
out  'n  a  cupple  o'  days  arfter  he  got  yere ; 
but  he  got  seven  ut  he  knowed  of,  he  tole 
us — thet's  his  grave  over  yon,  wher'  th' 
pile  o'  rocks  is.  Ike  'n'  me  planted  him 
thar.  Good  feller,  Joe  war,  too." 

4  *  What's  uh  matter,  Kid?  Yeh  ain't 
sayin'  nuthin',"  said  Ike. 

"I'm  inderested,"  answered  the  young 
ster,  as  he  glanced  back  at  the  horse  that 
carried  the  big  buck's  head  and  watched 
it  swing  from  side  to  side  and  up  and  down 
under  the  movement  imparted  by  the 
swinging  gait  of  the  cow  horse.  "Gee, 
won't  they  look  aw  right  down  'n  th' 
States!"  he  said,  as  we  pulled  up  in  the 
shade  of  the  house  and  began  to  unpack. 


OUR  HOME  -  COMING 

THE  summer  days  were  changing  to 
autumn  and  here  and  there  a  bit  of  brown 
had  encroached  upon  the  greenery  when 
the  boy  and  I  pulled  up  in  town  ''down  in 
the  States"  again,  after  our  long  trip  into 
the  desert.  We  were  browner  and  prob 
ably  a  bit  healthier  than  when  we  started, 
for  the  dry,  pure  air  of  the  desert  country 
is  a  balm  for  the  outdoor  man,  and  we  had 
breathed  our  fill. 

From  Ward's  ranch  all  the  way  home 
we  had  gone  through  about  the  same  kind 
of  country  and  had  about  the  same  experi 
ences  that  had  been  our  portion  on  the  out 
ward  trip,  and  as  a  result  the  boy  who 
came  back  was  a  well-seasoned  young  per 
son,  able  to  take  care  of  himself  in  the 
gray  wilderness  of  sage  and  bare  buttes — 
of  alkali  water  and  quicksand — with  the 
best  cow  puncher  who  lived  there. 

He  had  mastered  the  mysteries  of 
225 


226         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

" throwing  a  rope"  until  he  could  catch  a 
horse  off-hand.  He  had  sent  lead  across 
the  landscape  after  deer  and  antelope  until 
he  had  become  satisfied  from  the  abun 
dance  of  shooting. 

Horned  toads,  diamond-back  rattlers  and 
prairie  dogs  had  become  too  commonplace 
to  give  more  than  a  passing  glance  to,  and 
now  the  youngster  wanted  to  "rest  up" 
along  the  little  river  again. 

After  all,  it  is  the  first  love  that  is  the 
best,  although  we  may  not  think  BO  some 
times,  and  thus  become  weaned  away  by 
the  novelty  and  newness  of  the  unknown 
and  untried;  but  when  the  unknown 
becomes  known  to  us  it  seems  common 
place  and  we  find  ourselves  wishing  for  the 
things  that  we  knew  so  well  before. 

The  boy  was  undergoing  this  change  of 
heart  as  we  came  nearer  home,  and  when 
we  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  he  had  pulled 
up  short  as  the  sun  hung  low  above  the 
valley  of  the  little  river  and  the  little 
town  that  spread  up  the  slope  of  the 
eastern  hillside  —  the  place  that  the 


OUR  HOME-COMING          227 

boy  knew  so  well — the  place  we  called 
44  home." 

What  a  meaning  that  little  word  has  to 
the  wanderer ! 

I  think,  perhaps,  the  boy  felt  the  stress 
of  ifc,  and  yet  did  not  know  what  it  was  or 
why  he  felt  it;  but  he  looked  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  scene — at  the  familiar 
houses  and  the  shining  river  that  wound 
about  among  the  fringe  of  trees  in  the 
center  of  the  valley. 

After  a  little  he  spoke. 

"C'manch,  less  go  up  river  fishin' 
t-morruh — will  yeh?" 

4  *  Aren't  you  a  little  premature  with 
this  fishing,  my  boy?  Had  we  better  not 
wait  a  few  days  and  get  acquainted  with 
the  folks  a  bit  before  we  strike  out  on  this 
new  tack?" 

The  boy  rubbed  his  chin  reflectively  and 
gazed  at  the  ribbon  of  river  where  it  came 
out  of  the  north,  then  his  eye  ran  the 
course  of  it  down  the  valley  past  the  little 
town,  and  on  until  the  valley  came  to  the 
rim  of  the  southern  sky. 


228         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

"Yas,  uh  reckon  that's  'bout  whutwe'd 
ought  to  do,  but  I  do  want  to  juss  chuck 
a  minnie  to  thet  ole  Balaam  ut  I  know  is 
uh  waitin'  'n  nunder  th'  ole  maple  stump 
down  there  b'  th'  islan'.  I  know  they's 
one  there  juss  's  well  's  'ough  I'd  uh 
seen  him,  cos  ain't  nobudy  knows  juss 
'zackly  where  tu  drop  uh  hook  there 
'ceptin'  you'n  me,  'n7  we  ain't  been  heyer 
'tall  sence  early  this  season;  an'  'nuther 

things  is 0,  Gee!  I  furgot  'bout 

these  heads  we  got  in  th'  wagon;  guess 
we'll  haft  tu  let  th'  fishin'  go  tull  we  git 
them  took  care  of,  that's  uh  fack — never 
thought  'bout  them.  G  'up,  Bill ! ' ' 

And  so  we  moved  on  down  the  gentle 
slope  of  hillside  and  entered  the  town. 

Tired  men,  home-coming  with  dinner 
pail  a-swing  and  coat  across  their  other 
arm,  looked  at  the  travel -stained  outfit 
and  passed  a  pleasant  " howdy"  as  we  went 
by,  some  asking  a  few  questions,  others 
waiting  for  a  later  time  to  inquire  about 
our  success — you  know  this  is  a  village 
habit,  and  each  wanderer  must  come  back 


OUR  HOME-COMING  229 

prepared  to  tell  of  his  experiences  in  the 
far  countries  he  has  visited — yes,  tell  them 
in  detail  and  over  and  over  again,  else  the 
village  folk  will  not  be  satisfied  and  the 
traveler  is  apt  to  be  dubbed  "stuck  up" 
and  adjudged  to  hold  himself  as  a  superior 
being  because  of  his  traveling  and  sight 
seeing. 

" Hullo!  Ole  man  Hagey's  place  muss' 
uh  bin  sold  er  somp'n — look  ut  th'  new 
fence  —  'n'  new  sidewalk,  V  —  Gee ! 
They's  uh  new  kitchen,  too!  Guess  his 
folks  wouldn't  never  go  t'  all  th'  expense 
o'  doin'  thet,"  said  the  boy,  as  we  drove 

by. 

"There's  Curly  Lee,  V  Sap  Williams, 
V  Ed  Cole,  V  Walt  Fiske,  V  uh  whole 
gang  o'  fellers  comin'  down  th'  street ;  bet 
they're  goin'  swimmin'.  Hullo,  fellers!" 

"H'lo,  kid!  Git'nything?  Where  yeh 
bin  all  summer?  What—  Why " 

And  a  minute  later  there  were  a  dozen 
or  more  boys  all  about  the  wagon  and  all 
trying  to  talk  at  once. 

They  clambered  up  on  the  wheels,  shook 


230         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 


hands,  raised  the  canvas  wagon  cover,  and 
chattered  like  a  bunch  of  magpies  for 
about  ten  minutes. 

By  that  time  calm  enough  settled  over 
the  crowd  to  enable  one  to  talk  at  once 
while  the  rest  stood,  arms  akimbo,  and 
listened  or  passed  the  commenta  such  as 
all  boydom  passes  under  the  circumstances. 

When  we  began  to  move  ahead  once 
more,  the  boy  had  learned  that  this  crowd 
of  young  savages  were  in  truth  going 
"swimmin',"  and  he  had  promised  to  "be 
down  town  at  Lewis's"  after  supper.  I 
knew  that  a  business  meeting  of  a  flock  of 
geese  could  not  produce  anything  to  com 
pare  with  the  noise  and  gabble  that  would 
be  the  programme  at  " Lewis's"  that  even 
ing,  in  consequence. 

This  home-coming  through  a  small  town 
is  a  slow  proceeding,  and  lights  had  begun 
to  twinkle  in  the  windows  when  the  boy 
pulled  up  at  the  barn  and  we  were  at  our 
journey's  end,  tired,  dusty  and  glad  that 
we  were  at  home  once  more. 

Then  the  welcome  that  was  ours  when 


OUR  HOME-COMING  231 

"the  folks"  found  that  we  had  returned — 
the  thousand  questions  to  be  asked  and 
answered  while  we  unhitched  and  put  the 
team  away. 

Then,  while  supper  was  being  prepared, 
we  must  needs  unload  the  outfit  and  carry 
everything  up  to  the  back  porch,  where  it 
had  to  be  re-sorted  and  such  things  as  we 
decided  could  not  be  left  outside  had  to  be 
stowed  away  in  odd  corners  about  the  house 
"till  morning." 

Of  course  there  were  a  dozen  or  more 
children  from  the  neighborhood  on  hand 
to  assist  by  asking  queer  questions,  and 
"helping"  by  getting  in  just  the  wrong 
place  at  just  the  right  time  to  have  some 
one  tramp  on  their  numerous  bare  toes, 
until  their  infantile  yells  rent  the  air  and 
brought  more  than  one  nervous  mother 
skurrying  in  to  see  "what  on  airth  ailded 
Jimmie." 

But  what  is  the  use  of  lumbering  up 
columns  of  good  type  with  this  plain  de 
scription?  Everybody  knows  just  how 
these  things  happen  anyhow,  for  wander- 


232         JUST  ABOUT  A  BOY 

era  have  wandered  across  the  earth  since 
time  began,  and  some  of  them  always 
come  back  to  repeat  the  scene  we  enacted 
in  the  little  town  that  evening.  Always 
the  children  are  on  hand,  and  of  course 
they  get  into  some  sort  of  trouble,  and 
equally  of  course  this  always  brings  the 
mother,  and  many  times  the  father  also, 
and  then  the  wanderer  who  wants  a  chance 
to  get  a  bit  of  rest  because  of  his  physical 
fatigue  must  needs  answer  a  rapid-fire  lot 
of  questions,  most  of  them,  of  course,  hav 
ing  no  bearing  on  the  subject  at  hand  at 
all. 

The  boy  did  not  get  down  "to  Lewis V 
that  night,  for  it  was  10  o'clock  before  we 
got  our  chairs  away  from  the  supper  table, 
and  even  then  the  dishes  had  to  "wait  till 
morning"  for  their  tri-daily  bath  which  is 
part  of  the  domestic  mystery  called 
"housekeeping." 

When  the  last  impromptu  guest  had 
looked  at  the  clock  for  the  tenth  time  and 
then  suddenly  discovered  that  it  was  "get- 
tin'  late,"  the  boy  and  I  again  had  a  few 


OUR  HOME-COMING  233 

moments  of  comparative  quiet,  which  we 
used  by  storing  everything  snug  for  the 
night,  and  at  last  even  he,  too,  clattered 
down  the  steps  and  on  down  the  walk  with 
his  merry  whistle,  bound  homeward. 

"Goo'  night,  C'manch — see  yeh  in  th' 
mornin',"  he  called  as  he  passed  out  into 
the  street  and  let  the  gate  slam  shut  with 
a  clang  of  complaining  hinges. 

The  next  morning  he  appeared  very 
sleepy  and  woe-begone  when  he  came 
around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"Bin  sleepin'  s'  long  out  o'  doors  'at  uh 
couldn't  sleep  'tall  tull  uh  tuk  uh  blanket 
V  rolled  up  on  th'  grass,"  he  explained. 


THE   END 


•DKfiC 

Phillips,  W, 

S. 

.root? 
JJU 

just  about  a 

boy 

M532988 


lust 
about 

a  boy 


W-5-  Phillips 

(^ElComancho] 


